POPULAR  NOVELS. 

BY 

MRS.  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 


Ttimrr  AHTJ 

KNiiLisH  ORPHANS. 
,  HOMBSTIAD  ON  HILLSIDE. 

'LENA  RIVERS. 
.  MKADOW  BUOOE.. 

DOHA  DEANE. 
»CorBiN  MAUDS. 

MAKIAK  GKET. 

EDITH  LTLE. 

DAI.«T  THOKHTOH. 

CHATEAU  D'On. 

QUBBMIK  HBTHBKTOX. 

BESSIE'S  FORTUNE. 


AHB  DATXISHT. 

IIlWH    WORTRINOTOH. 
f'AMEBOW    PlUDB. 

ROPK  MATHKB. 

ETHELTM'H 

MILBANK. 

EDNA  BROWHIJT*. 

WEST  LAWK. 

MILDRKD. 

FOKKEST    UOUiB. 

MADELUJB. 
CHRIBTMA*  Bros 
|  GKETCHEN  (New). 


"  Mrs.  Holmes  li  a  peculiarly  pleas  nut  and  faecloatlng 
writer.     Her  books  are  always  eutertainina;,  and  ehe 
has  the  rare  faculty  of  enlisting  the  sympathy 
and  affection*  of  her  reader?,   and  of  hold- 
ing   their    attention    to    her    pages    with 
deep   and    absorbing   interest." 


0.    W.    DILLINGHAM,    PUBLISHER, 

SUCCESSOR  TO 

G.  W.  CABLETON  &  Co.,  New  York. 


GR 


TC 


EN 


BY 

MRS.    MARY    J.    HOLMES, 

AUTHOB  0V 

TEMPEST  AND  SUNSHINE. — DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT. — MILBANK. 

ENGLISH  ORPHANS.— 'LENA  RIVERS. — ETHELYN'S  MISTAKE. — 

HUGH  WORTHINGTON. — MADELINE. — WEST  LAWN. — 

EDNA    BROWNING. — MARIAN    GREY. — 

BESSIE'S  FORTUNE,  ETC. 


NEW      YORK 

G.     W.     Dillingham,     Pitblisher, 

SUCCESSOR  TO  G.  W.  CARLETON  &  Co. 

LONDON  :     S.    LOW,    SON    &   CO. 
MDCCCLXXXVII. 


COPTEIGHT,    1887, 

BY    DANIEL    HOLMES. 

ALL  BIGHTS  RESERVED. 


STEREOTYPED  BT 

SAMUEL  STODDEB, 

42  DET  STREET,  N.  T. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAOB 

I.    The  Telegram 9 

IL     Arthur  Tracy 12 

HI.     Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank  Tracy 19 

IV.     Getting  Accustomed  to  It 24 

V.     At  the  Park 32 

VI.     The  Cottage  in  the  Lane 38 

VIL     The  Party 45 

VET.     Arthur 48 

IX.     Who  is  Gretchen  ? 60 

X.     Arthur  Settles  Himself 72 

XL     The  Storm 78 

XII.     The  Tramp  House 87 

XIII.  The  Woman 94 

XIV.  Little  Jerry 108 

XV.     Jerry  at  the  Park 114 

XVL    The  Funeral,  and  After 122 

XVII.  "  Mr.  Crazyman,  Do  You  Want  Some  Cherries  ?"  131 

Arthur  and  Jerry 139 

5 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.     Arthur's  Plan 158 

XX.     The  Working  of  Arthur's  Plan ' 1 64 

XXI.     Mrs.  Tracy's  Diamonds 175 

XXII.     Searching  For  the  Diamonds 184 

XXIII.  Arthur's  Letter 198 

XXIV.  Ten  Years  Later 209 

XXV.     The  Two  Faces  in  the  Mirror 216 

XXVI.     Maude's  Letter 224 

XXVII.     " He  Cometh  Not,"  She  Said 230 

XXVIIL     In  Shannondale 237 

XXIX.  Why  Harold  Did  Not  Go  to  Vassar 249 

XXX.  The  Walk  Home 258 

XXXL     At  Home 264 

XXXIL     The  Next  Day 269 

XXXIII.  At  the  Park  House 283 

XXXIV.  Under  the  Pines  with  Tom 287 

XXXV.     The  Garden  Party 293 

XXXVI.     Out  in  the  Storm 301 

XXXVII.     Under  the  Pines  with  Dick 307 

XXXVIII.     At  Le  Bateau 312 

XXXIX.     Maude 326 

XL.     "  Do  You  Know  What  You  Have  Done  ?" 336 

XLI.     What  Jerrie  Found  under  the  Floor 341 

XLII.     Harold  and  the  Diamonds 352 

XLIIL     Harold  and  Jerrie 366 

XLIV.     Jerrie  Clears  Harold 372 

XLV.     What  Followed .  379 


CONTENTS.  7 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XL VI.    The  Letters 382 

XLVII.     Arthur 389 

XL VIII.  What  They  were  Doing  and  had  Done  in  Shan- 

nondale 393 

XLIX.     Telling  Arthur 404 

L.     The  Flower  Fadeth 416 

LI.     Under  the  Pines  with  Harold 422 

LII.     "For  Better,  For  Worse." 427 

LIH.  After  Two  Years..                                                 .441 


GRETCHEN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  TELEGRAM. 

"BREVOORT  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  Oct.  6th,  18 — . 
"HPO  Mr.  Frank  Tracy,  of  Tracy  Park,  Shannondale. 

"I  arrived  in  the  Scotia  this  morning,  and  shall 
take  the  train  for  Shannondale  at  3  P.  M.  Send  some 
one  to  the  station  to  meet  us.  "  ARTHUR  TRACY." 

This  was  the  telegram  which  the  clerk  in  the  Shannon- 
dale  office  received  one  October  morning,  and  dispatched 
to  the  Hon.  Frank  Tracy,  of  Tracy  Park,  in  the  quiet  town 
of  Shannondale,  where  our  story  opens. 

Mr.  Frank  Tracy,  who,  since  his  election  to  the  State 
Legislature  for  two  successive  terms,  had  done  nothing 
except  to  attend  political  meetings  and  make  speeches  on 
all  public  occasions,  had  an  office  in  town,  where  he  usu- 
ally spent  his  mornings,  smoking,  reading  the  p-ncrs,  and 
talking  to  Mr.  Colvin,  his  business  agent  and  1  yer,  for, 
though  born  in  one  of  the  humblest  New  Eng1  ad  houses, 
where  the  slanting  roof  almost  touched  the  g/ound  in  the 
rear,  and  he  could  scarcely  stand  upright  in  the  chamber 
where  he  slept,  Mr.  Frank  Tracy  was  a  m;m  of  leisure  now, 
and  as  he  dashed  along  the  turnpike  in  his  handsome  car- 
riage, with  his  driver  beside  him,  people  looked  admiringly 
after  him,  and  pointed  him  out  to  strangers  as  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Tracy,  of  Tracy  Park,  one  of  the  finest  places  in 

1* 


10  THE    TELEGRAM. 

the  county.  It  is  true  it  did  not  belong  to  him,  but  he 
had  lived  there  so  long  that  he  looked  upon  it  as  his,  while 
his  neighbors,  too,  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  there  was 
a  Mr.  Arthur  Tracy,  who  might  at  any  time  come  home  to 
claim  his  own  and  demand  an  account  of  his  brother's 
stewardship.  And  it  was  this  Arthur  Tracy,  whose  tele- 
gram announcing  his  return  from  Europe  was  read  by  his 
brother  with  feelings  of  surprise  and  consternation. 

"  Not  that  everything  isn't  fair  and  above  board,  and 
he  is  welcome  to  look  into  matters  as  much  as  he  likes," 
Prank  said  to  himself,  as  he  sat  staring  at  the  telegram, 
while  the  cold  chills  ran  up  and  down  his  back  and  arms. 
"Yes,  he  can  examine  all  Colvin's  books;  he  will  find 
them  straight  as  a  string,  and  didn't  he  tell  me  to  take 
what  I  thought  right  as  remuneration  for  looking  after  his 
property  while  he  was  gallivanting  over  the  world  ;  and  if 
he  objects  that  I  have  taken  too  much,  I  can  at  once  trans- 
fer those  investments  in  my  name  to  him.  No,  it  is  not 
that  which  affects  me  so;  it  is  the  suddenness  of  the  thing, 
coming  without  warning,  and  to  night  of  all  nights,  when 
the  house  will  be  full  of  carousing  and  champagne.  What 
will  Dolly  say  ?  Hysterics,  of  course,  if  not  a  sick  head- 
ache. I  don't  believe  I  can  face  her  till  she  has  hud  a 
little  time  to  brace  up.  Here,  boy,  I  want  you  I"  and  he 
rapped  on  the  window  at  a  young  lad  who  happened  to  be 
passing  with  a  basket  on  his  arm.  "I  want  you  to  do  an 
errand  for  me,"  he  continued,  as  the  boy  entered  the  office 
and,  removing  his  cap,  stood  respectfully  before  him. 
"  Take  this  telegram  to  Mrs.  Tracy,  and  here  is  a  dime  for 
you." 

"  Thank  you  ;  but  I  don't  care  for  the  money,"  the  boy 
said.  "I  was  going  to  the  park  anyway  to  tell  Mrs.  Tracy 
that  grandma  is  sick  and  can't  go  there  to-night." 

"  Sick  !  What  is  the  matter  ?"  Mr.  Tracy  asked,  in 
dismay,  feeling  that  here  was  a  fresh  cause  of  trouble  and 
worry  for  his  wife. 

"  She  catched  cold  yesterday  fixing  up  mother's  grave," 
the  boy  replied;  and,  as  if  the  mention  of  that  grave  had 
sent  Mr.  Tracy's  thoughts  straying  backward  to  the  past, 
he  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  child  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said  : 

"How  old  are  you,  Harold  ?" 


THE    TELEGRAM.  11 

"  Ten,  last  August,"  was  the  reply  ;  and  Mr.  Tracy 
continued: 

"  You  do  not  remember  your  mother  ?" 

"No,  sir  ;  only  a  great  crowd,  and  grandma  crying  so 
hard,"  was  Harold's  reply. 

"  You  look  like  her,"  Mr.  Tracy  said. 

e '  Yes,  sir,"  Harold  answered  ;  while  into  his  frank, 
open  face  there  came  an  expression  of  regret  for  the  mother 
who  had  died  when  he  was  three  years  old,  and  whose  life 
had  been  so  short  and  sad. 

"  Now,  hurry  off  with  the  telegram,  and  mind  you  don't 
lose  it.  It  is  from  my  brother.  He  is  coming  to  night." 

"Mr.  Arthur  Tracy,  who  sent  the  monument  for  my 
mother — is  he  coming  home?  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !"  Harold 
exclaimed,  his  face  lighting  up  with  joy,  as  he  put  the 
telegram  in  his  pocket  and  started  for  Tracy  Park,  won- 
dering if  he  should  encounter  Torn,  and  thinking  that  if  he 
did,  and  Tom  gave  him  any  chaff,  he  should  thresh  him,  or 
try  to. 

"Darn  him!"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  recalled  the 
many  times  when  Tom  Tracy,  a  boy  about  his  own  age, 
had  laughed  at  him  for  his  poverty  and  coarse  clothes. 
"  He  ain't  any  better  than  I  am,  if  he  does  wear  velvet 
trousers  and  live  in  a  big  house.  ''Tain't  his'n;  it's  Mr. 
Arthurs,  and  I'm  glad  he  is  coming  home,  i  wonder  if 
he  will  bring  grandma  anything.  I  wish  he'd  bring  me  a 
pyramid.  He's  seen  'em,  they  say." 

Meantime,  Mr.  Frank  Tracy  had  resumed  his  seat,  and, 
with  his  hands  clasped  over  his  head,  was  wondering  what 
effect  his  brother's  return  would  have  upon  him.  Would 
he  be  obliged  to  leave  the  park,  and  the  luxury  he  had 
enjoyed  so  long,  and  go  back  to  the  old  life  which  he  hated 
so  much  ? 

"  No  ;  Arthur  will  never  be  so  mean/'  he  said.  "He 
has  always  shown  himself  generous,  and  will  continue  to 
do  so.  Besides  that,  he  will  want  somebody  to  keep  the 

house  for  him,  unless "  And   here    the  perspiration 

started  from  every  pore  as  Frank  Tracy  thought:  "What 
if  he  is  married,  and  the  us  in  his  telegram  means  a  wife, 
instead  of  a  friend  or  servant  as  I  imagined  !" 

That  would  indeed  be  a  calamity,  for  then  his  reign 
was  over  at  Tracy  Park,  and  the  party  he  and  his  wife  were 


12  ARTHUR   TRACT. 

to  give  that  night  to  at  least  three  hundred  people  would 
be  their  lust. 

"  Confound  the  party  \"  he  thought,  as  he  arose  from 
his  chair  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  "Arthur  won't  like 
that  as  a  greeting  after  eleven  years*  absence.  He  never 
fancied  being  cheek  by  jowl  with  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  ; 
and  that  is  just  what  the  smash  is  to  night.  Dolly  wants 
to  please  everybody,  thinking  to  get  me  votes  for  Congress, 
and  so  she  has  invited  all  creation  and  his  wife.  There's 
old  Peterkin,  the  roughest  kind  of  a  canal  bummer  when 
Arthur  went  away.  Think  of  my  fastidious  brother  shak- 
ing hands  \vith  him  and  Widow  Shipley,  who  kept  a  low 
tavern  on  the  tow  path  !  She'll  be  there, j[n  her  silks  and 
long  gold  chain,  for  she  has  four  boys,  all  voters,  who  call 
me  Frank  and  slap  me  on  the  shoulder.  Ugh  I  even  I  hate 
it  all  ;"  and,  in  a  most  perturbed  state  of  mind,  the  would 
be  Congressman  continued  to  walk  the  room,  lamenting 
the  party,  and  wondering  what  his  aristocractic  brother 
would  say  to  such  a  crowd  in  his  house  on  the  night  of  his 
return. 

And  if  there  should  be  a  Mrs.  Arthur  Tracy,  with  pos- 
sibly some  little  Tracys  !  But  that  idea  was  too  horrible 
to  contemplate,  and  he  tried  to  put  it  from  his  mind,  and 
to  be  as  calm  and  quiet  as  possible  until  lunch  time,  when, 
with  no  very  great  amount  of  alacrity  and  cheerfulness,  he 
started  for  home. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

ARTHUR     TRACT. 

A  LTHOUGH  it  was  a  morning  in  October,  the  grass  in 
•£*-  the  park  was  as  green  as  in  early  June,  while  the 
flowers  in  the  beds  and  borders,  the  geraniums,  the  phlox, 
the  stocks,  and  verbenas,  were  handsomer,  if  possible,  than 
they  had  been  in  the  summer-time;  for  the  rain,  which  had 
fallen  almost  continually  during  the  month  of  September, 
had  kept  them  fresh  and  bright.  Here  and  there  the 
scudct  and  golden  tints  of  autumn  were  beginning  to  show 


ARTHUR    TRACT.  18 

on  the  trees;  but  this  only  added  a  new  charm  to  a  place 
which  was  noted  for  its  beauty,  and  was  the  pride  and 
admiration  of  the  town. 

And  yet  Mrs.  Frank  Tracy,  who  stood  on  the  wide 
piazza,  looking  after  a  carriage  which  was  moving  down 
the  avenue  which  lead  through  the  park  to  the  highway, 
did  not  seem  as  happy  as  the  mistress  of  that  house  ought 
to  have  been,  standing  there  in  the  clear,  crisp  morning, 
with  a  silken  wrapper  trailing  behind  her,  a  coquettish 
French  cap  on  her  head,  and  costly  jewels  on  her  short,  fat 
hands,  which  once  were  not  as  white  and  soft  as  they  were 
now.  For  Mrs.  Frank  Tracy,  as  Dorothy  Smith,  had 
known  what  hard  labor  and  poverty  meant,  and  slights,  too, 
because  of  the  poverty  and  labor.  Her  mother  was  a  widow, 
sickly  and  lame,  and  Dorothy  in  her  girlhood  had  worked 
in  the  cotton  mills  at  Langley,  and  bound  shoes  for  the 
firm  of  Newell  &  Brothers,  and  rebelled  at  the  fate  which 
had  made  her  so  poor  and  seemed  likely  to  keep  her  so. 

But  there  was  something  better  in  store  for  her  than 
binding  shoes,  or  working  in  the  mills,  and  from  the  time 
when  young  Frank  Tracy  came  to  Langley  as  clerk  in  the 
Newell  firm,  Dorothy's  life  was  changed  and  her  star  began 
to  rise.  They  both  sang  in  the  choir,  standing  side  by  side, 
and  sometimes  using  the  same  book,  and  once  their  hands 
met  as  both  tried  to  turn  the  leaves  together.  Dorothy's 
were  red  and  rough,  and  not  nearly  as  delicate  as  those  of 
Frank,  who  had  been  in  a  store  all  his  life;  and  still  there 
was  a  magnetism  in  their  touch  which  sent  a  thrill  through 
the  young  man's  veins,  and  made  him  for  the  first  time 
look  critically  at  his  companion. 

She  was  very  pretty,  he,  thought,  with  bright  black 
eyes,  a  healthful  bloom,  and  a  smile  and  blush  which  went 
straight  to  his  heurt,  and  made  him  her  slave  at  once.  In 
three  months'  time  they  were  married  and  commenced 
housekeeping  in  a  very  unostentatious  way,  for  Frank  had 
nothing  but  his  salary  to  depend  upon.  But  he  was  well 
connected,  and  boasted  some  blue  blood,  which,  in  Doro- 
thy's estimation,  made  amends  for  lack  of  money.  The 
Tracys  of  Boston  were  his  distant  relatives,  and  he  hud  a 
rich  bachelor  uncle,  who  spent  his  winters  in  New  Orleans 
and  his  summers  at  Tracy  Park,  on  which  he  had  lavished 
fabulous  sums  of  money.  From  this  uncle  Frank  had 


14  ARTHUR    TRACT. 

expectations,  though  naturally  the  greater  part  of  his  for- 
tune would  go  to  liis  godson  and  namesake,  Arthur  Tracy, 
who  was  Frank's  elder  brother,  and  as  unlike  him  as  one 
brother  could  well  bo  unlike  another. 

Arthur  was  scholarly  in  his  tastes,  and  quiet  and  gen- 
tlemanly in  his  manners,  and,  though  subject  to  moods  and 
fits  of  abstraction  and  forgetfulness,  which  won  for  him 
the  reputation  of  being  a  "little  queer/' he  was  exceed- 
ingly popular  with  everyone.  Frank  was  very  prond  of 
his  brother,  and  with  Dorothy  felt  that  he  was  honored, 
when,  six  months  after  their  marriage,  he  came  for  a  day 
or  so  to  visit  them,  and  with  him  his  intimate  friend,  liar- 
old  Hastings,  an  Englishman  by  birth,  but  so  thoroughly 
Americanized  as  to  pass  unchallenged  for  a  native.  '\  here 
was  a  band  of  crape  on  Arthur's  hat,  and  his  manner  was 
like  one  trying  to  be  sorry,  while  conscious  of  an  inward 
feeling  of  resignation,  ii  not  content.  The  rich  uncle  had 
died  suddenly,  and  the  whole  of  his  vast  fortune  was  left 
to  his  nephew  Arthur — not  a  farthing  to  Frank,  not  even 
the  mention  of  his  name  in  the  will  ;  and  when  Dorothy 
heard  it,  she  put  her  white  apron  over  her  face,  and  cried 
as  if  her  heart  would  break.  They  were  so  poor,  she  and 
Frank,  and  they  wanted  so  many  things,  and  the  man  who 
could  have  helped  them  was  dead,  and  had  left  them  noth- 
ing. It  was  hard,  and  she  might  not  have  made  the 
young  heir  very  welcome  if  he  had  not  assured  her  that  he 
should  do  something  for  her  husband.  And  he  kept  his 
word,  and  bought  out  a  grocery  in  Langley  and  put  Frank 
in  it,  and  paid  the  mortgage  on  his  house,  and  gave  him  a 
thousand  dollars,  and  invited  Dolly  to  visit  him  ;  and  then 
it  would  seem  as  if  he  forgot  them  entirely,  for  with  his 
friend  Harold,  he  settled  himself  at  Tracy  Park,  and 
played  the  role  of  the  grand  gentleman  to  perfection. 

Few  ladies  ever  called  at  the  house,  for,  with  two  or 
three  exceptions,  Arthur  held  himself  aloof  from  the  peo- 
ple of  Shannondale.  It  was  said,  however,  th;;t  some- 
times, when  he  and  his  friend  were  alone,  there  was  the 
sound  of  music  in  the  parlor,  where  sweet  Amy  Crawford, 
daughter  of  the  housekeeper,  played  and  sang  her  simple 
ballads  to  the  two  gentlemen,  who  treated  her  with  as 
much  deference  as  if  she  had  been  a  queen,  instead  of  a 
poor  young  girl  dependent  for  her  bread  upon  her  own  and 


ARTHUR    TRACT.  15 

her  mother's  exertions.  But  beyond  the  singing  in  the 
twilight  Amy  never  advanced,  and  so  far  as  her  mother 
knew,  she  hud  never  for  a  single  instant  been  alone  with 
either  of  the  gentlemen.  How,  then,  was  the  household 
electrified  one  morning,  when  it  was  found  that  Amy  had 
fled,  and  that  Harold  Hastings  was  the  companion  of  her 
flight  ? 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you/'  Amy  wrote  to  her  mother  in 
the  note  left  on  her  dressing-table,  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
and  be  married  at  home,  but  Mr.  Hastings  Avould  not 
allow  it.  It  would  create  trouble,  he  said,  between  him- 
self and  Mr.  Tracy,  who,  I  may  confess  to  you  in  confi- 
dence, asked  me  twice  to  be  his  wife,  and  when  I  refused, 
he  was  so  angry  and  behaved  so  strangely,  and  there  was 
such  a  look  in  his  eyes,  that  I  was  afraid  of  him,  and  it 
was  this  fear,  I  think,  Avhich  made  me  willing  to  go  away 
secretly  with  Harold  and  be  married  in  New  York.  We 
are  going  to  Europe  ;  shall  sail  to-morrow  morning  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  Scotia.  The  marriage  ceremony  will  be  per- 
formed before  we  go  on  board.  I  shall  write  as  soon  as  we 
reach  Liverpool.  You  must  forgive  me,  mother,  and  I  am 
sure  you  would  if  you  knew  how  much  I  love  Mr.  Hast- 
ings. I  know  he  is  poor,  and  that  I  might  be  mistress  of 
Tracy  Park,  but  I  love  Harold  best.  It  is  ten  o'clock,  and 
the  train  passes  at  eleven,  so  I  must  say  good-by. 

"Yours  lovingly, 

"  AMY." 

This  letter  Mrs.  Crawford  found  upon  entering  her 
daughter's  room,  after  waiting  more  than  an  hour  for  her 
appearance  at  the  breakfast,  which  they  always  took  by 
themselves.  To  say  that  she  was  shocked  and  astonished 
would  but  faintly  portray  the  state  of  her  mind  as  she  read 
that  her  beautiful  young  daughter  had  gone  with  Harold 
Hastings,  whom  she  had  never  liked,  for,  though  he  Avas 
handsome  and  agreeable,  and  gentlemanly  as  a  rule,  she 
knew  him  to  be  thoroughly  selfish  and  indolent,  and  she 
trembled  for  Amy's  happiness  when  a  little  time  had 
quenched  the  ardor  of  his  passion.  Added  to  this  was 
another  thought  which  made  her  brain  reel  for  a  moment. 
Arthur  Tracy  had  wished  to  make  Amy  his  wife,  and  the  mis- 


16  ARTHUR    TRACT. 

tress  of  Tracy  Park,  which  she  would  have  graced  so  well, 
for  in  all  the  town  there  was  not  a  fairer,  sweeter  girl  than 
Amy  Crawford,  or  one  better  beloved.  But  it  was  too  late 
now.  There  was  no  turning  back  the  wheels  of  fate  ;  and 
forcing  herself  to  be  as  calm  as  possible,  she  took  the  note 
to  Arthur,  who  was  waiting  impatiently  in  the  library  for 
the  appearance  of  his  friend. 

"  Luzy  dog  \"  Mrs.  Crawford  heard  him  say,  as  she 
approached  the  open  door.  "  Does  he  think  he  has  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  sleep  ?  We  were  to  start  by  this  time, 
and  he  in  bed  yet!  " 

"  Are  yon  speaking  of  Mr.  Hastings?"  Mrs.  Crawford 
asked,  as  she  stepped  into  the  room. 

"  Yes/'  was  his  haughty  reply,  as  if  he  resented  the 
question,  and  her  presence  there. 

He  could  be  very  proud  and  stern  when  he  felt  like  it, 
and  one  of  these  moods  was  on  him  now,  but  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford did  not  heed  it,  and  sinking  into  a  chair,  she  began: 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  of  Mr.  Hastings,  and — Amy.  I 
found  this  note  in  her  room.  She  has  gone  to  New  York 
with  him.  Tiiey  took  the  eleven  o'clock  train  last  night. 
They  are  to  be  married  this  morning,  and  sail  for 
Europe." 

For  a  moment  Arthur  Tracy  stood  looking  at  her,  while 
his  face  grew  white  as  ashes,  and  into  his  dark  eyes,  there 
came  a  gleam  like  that  of  a  madman. 

"Amy  gone  with  Harold,  my  friend!"  he  said,  at  last 
"Gone  to  be  married!  Traitors!  both  of  them.  Curse 
them!  If  he  were  here  I'd  shoot  him  like  a  dog;  and 
she — I  believe  I  would  kill  her  too." 

He  was  walking  the  floor  rapidly,  and  to  Mrs.  Crawford 
it  seemed  as  if  he  really  were  unsettled  in  his  mind,  he 
talked  so  incoherently  and  acted  so  strangely. 

"  What  else  did  she  say?"  he  asked,  suddenly,  stopping 
and  confronting  her.  "  You  have  not  told  me  all.  Did 
she  speak  of  me?  Let  me  see  the  note,"  and  he  held  his 
hand  for  it. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Crawford  hesitated,  but  as  he  grew 
more  and  more  persistent  she  gave  it  to  him,  and  then 
watched  him  as  he  read  it,  while  the  veins  on  his  forehead 
began  to  swell  until  they  stood  out  like  a  dark  blue  net- 
work against  his  otherwise  pallid  face. 


ARTHUR   TRACT.  17 

"  Yes,"  lie  said  between  his  teeth.  "  I  did  ask  her  to 
be  my  wife,  and  she  refused,  and  with  her  soft,  kittenish 
ways  made  me  more  in  love  with  her  than  ever,  and  more 
her  dupe.  I  never  suspected  Harold,  and  when  I  told  him 
of  my  disappointment,  for  I  never  kept  a  thing  from  him, 
he  laughed  at  me  for  losing  my  heart  to  my  housekeeper's 
daughter  !  I  could  have  knocked  him  down  for  his  sneer 
at  Amy,  and  I  wish  now  I  had!  He  does  not  mean  to 
marry  your  daughter,  madam,  but  if  he  does  not,  I  will 
kill  him! » 

He  was  certainly  mad,  and  Mrs.  Crawford  shrank  away 
from  him  as  from  something  dangerous,  and  going  to 
her  room  took  her  bed  in  a  fit  of  frightful  hysterics.  This 
was  followed  by  a  state  of  nervous  prostration,  and  for  a 
few  days  she  neither  saw  nor  heard  of,  nor  inquired  for 
Mr.  Tracy.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  day,  however,  she 
was  told  by  the  house-maid  that  he  had  that  morning 
packed  his  valise  and,  without  a  word  to  any  one,  had 
taken  the  train  for  New  York.  A  week  went  by,  and  then 
there  came  a  letter  from  him,  which  was  as  follows  : 

"  NEW  YORK,  May—,  18—. 

"Mss.  CRAWFORD: — lam  off  for  Europe  to-morrow, 
and  when  I  shall  return  is  a  matter  of  uncertainty.  They 
are  married;  or  at  least  I  suppose  so,  for  I  found  a  list  of 
the  passengers  who  sailed  in  the  Scotia,  and  the  names, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hastings,  were  in  it.  So  that  saves  me  from 
breaking  the  sixth  commandment,  as  I  should  have  done 
if  he  had  played  Amy  false.  I  may  not  make  myself 
known  to  them,  but  I  shall  follow  them,  and  if  he  harms  a 
hair  of  her  head  I  shall  shoot  him  yet.  My  brother  Frank 
is  to  live  at  Tracy  Park.  That  will  suit  his  wife,  and  as 
you  will  not  care  to  stay  with  her,  I  send  you  a  deed  of 
that  cottage  in  the  lane  by  the  wood  where  the  gardener 
now  lives.  It  is  a  pretty  little  place,  and  Amy  liked  it 
well.  We  used  to  meet  there  sometimes,  and  more  than 
once  I  have  sat  with  her  on  that  seat  under  the  elm  tree, 
and  it  was  there  I  asked  her  to  be  my  wife.  Alas  1 1  loved  her 
so  much,  and  I  could  have  made  her  so  happy;  but  that  is 
past,  and  I  can  only  watch  her  ut  a  distance.  When  I  have 
anything  to  communicate,  I  will  write  again. 
"  Yours  truly,  "  ARTHUR 


18  ARTHUR   TRACT. 

"  P.  S. — Take  all  the  furniture  in  your  room  and  A  my  s, 
and  whatever  else  you  need  for  your  house.  I  shall  tell 
Colvin  to  give  you  a  thousand  dollars,  and  when  you  want 
more  let  him  know.  I  shall  never  forget  that  you  are  Amy's 
mother." 

This  was  Arthur's  letter  to  Mrs.  Crawford,  while  to  his 
brother  he  wrote: 

"  DEAR  FBANK: — I  am  going  to  Europe  for  an  indefi- 
nite length  of  time.  Why  I  go  it  matters  not  to  you  or 
any  one.  I  go  to  suit  myself,  and  I  want  you  to  sell  out 
your  business  in  Langley  and  live  at  Tracy  Park,  where 
you  can  see  to  things  as  if  they  were  your  own.  You  will 
find  everything  straight  and  square,  for  Colvin  is  honest 
•  and  methodical.  He  knows  all  about  the  bonds,  and  mort- 
gages, and  stocks,  so  you  cannot  do  better  than  to  retain 
him  in  your  service,  overseeing  matters  yourself,  of  course, 
and  drawing  for  your  salary  what  you  think  right  and 
necessary  for  your  support  and  for  keeping  up  the  place  as 
it  ought  to  be  kept  up.  I  inclose  a  power  of  attorney. 
"When  I  want  money  I  shall  call  upon  Colvin.  I  may  be 
gone  for  years  and  perhaps  forever. 

"  I  shall  never  marry,  and  when  I  die,  what  I  have  will 
naturally  go  to  you.  We  have  not  been  much  like  brothers 
for  the  past  few  years,  but  I  don't  forget  the  old  home  in 
the  mountains  where  we  were  boys  together,  and  played, 
and  quarreled,  and  slept  under  the  roof,  where  the  blan- 
ket's \vere  hung  to  keep  the  snow  from  sifting  through  the 
rafters  upon  our  bed. 

"And,  Frank,  do  you  remember  the  bitter  mornings, 
when  the  thermometer  was  below  zero,  and  we  performed 
our  ablutions  in  the  wood-shed,  and  the  black  eye  you 
gave  me  once  for  telling  mother  that  you  had  not  washed 
yourself  at  all,  it  was  so  cold  ?  She  sent  you  from  the  table, 
and  made  you  go  without  your  breakfast,  and  we  had  ham 
and  johnny-cake  toast  that  morning,  too.  That  was  long 
ago,  and  our  lives  are  different  now.  There  are  marble 
basins,  with  silver  chains  and  stoppers,  at  Tracy  Park,  and 
you  can  have  a  hot  bath  every  day  if  you  like,  in  a  room 
which  would  not  shame  Caracalla  himself.  And  I  know 
you  will  like  it,  and  Dolly,  too;  but  don't  make  fools  of 


MR.    AND    MRS.    FRANK    TRACT.  19 

yourselves.  Be  quiet  and  modest,  and  act  as  if  you  had 
always  lived  at  Tracy  Park.  Be  kind  to  Mrs.  Crawford, 
who  is  a  lady  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

"  And  now,  good-by.     I  shall  write  occasionally,  but 
not  often. 

"  Your  brother,  "  ABTHUE  TRACY." 


CHAPTER  III. 

MB.  AND  MKS.  FRANK  TRACT. 

MB.  FRANK,  in  his  small  grocery  at  Langley,  was 
weighing  out  a  pound  of  butter  for  the  Widow  Simp- 
son, who  was  haggling  with  him  about  the  price,  when  his 
brother's  letter  was  brought  to  him  by  the  boy  who  swept 
his  store  and  did  errands  for  him.  But  Frank  was  too 
busy  just  then  to  read  it.  There  was  a  circus  in  the  village 
that  day,  and  it  brought  the  country  people  into  the  town 
in  larger  numbers  than  usual.  Naturally,  many  of  them 
paid  Frank  a  visit  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  so  that  it 
was  not  until  he  went  home  to  his  dinner  that  he  thought 
of  the  letter,  which  was  finally  brought  to  his  mind  by  his 
wife's  asking  if  there  were  any  news. 

Mrs.  Frank  was  always  inquiring  for  and  expecting 
news,  but  she  was  not  prepared  for  what  this  day  brought 
her.  Neither  was  her  husband;  and  when  he  read  his 
brother's  letter,  which  he  did  twice  to  assure  himself  that 
he  was  not  mistaken,  he  sat  for  a  moment  perfectly  bewil- 
dered, and  stared  at  his  wife,  who  was  putting  his  dinner 
upon  the  table. 

"  Dolly/'  he  gasped  at  last,  when  he  could  speak  at  all 
— "Dolly,  what  do  you  think?  Just  listen.  Arthur  is 
going  to  Europe,  to  stay  forever,  perhaps,  and  has  left  us 
Tracy  Park.  We  are  going  there  to  live,  and  you  will  be 
as  grand  a  lady  as  Mrs.  Athcrton,  of  Brier  Hill,  or  that 
young  girl  at  Collingwood." 

Dolly  had  a  platter  of  ham  and  eggs  in  her  hand,  and 
she  never  could  tell,  though  she  often  tried  to  do  so,  what 


20  MR.    AND    MRS.    FRANK     TRACT. 

prevented  her  from  dropping  the  whole  upon  the  floor. 
She  did  spill  some  of  the  fat  upon  her  clean  table-cloth, 
she  put  the  dish  down  so  suddenly,  and  then  sinking  into 
a  chair,  she  demanded  what  her  husband  meant.  Was  he 
crazy,  or  what  ? 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  replied,  recovering  himself,  and 
beginning  to  realize  the  good  fortune  which  had  come  to 
him.  "  We  are  rich  people,  Dolly.  Head  for  yourself  ;" 
and  he  passed  her  the  letter,  which  she  seemed  to  under- 
stand better  than  he  had  done. 

"  Why,  yes/'  she  eaid.  "  We  are  going  to  Tracy  Park 
to  live;  but  that  doesn't  make  us  rich.  It  is  not  ours." 

.  "  1  know  that,"  her  husband  replied.  ""  But  we  shall 
enjoy  it  all  the  same,  and  hold  our  heads  with  the  best  of 
them.  Besides,  don't  you  see,  Arthur  gives  me  carte 
Handle  as  to  pay  for  my  services,  and,  though  I  shall  do 
right,  it  is  not  in  human  nature  that  I  should  not  feather 
my  nest  when  I  have  a  chance.  Some  of  that  money  ought 
to  have  been  mine.  I  shall  sell  out  at  once  if  I  can  find  a 
purchaser,  and  if  I  can't,  I  shall  rent  the  grocery  and  move 
out  of  this  hole  double-quick." 

His  ideas  were  growing  faster  than  those  of  his  wife, 
who  was  attached  to  Langley  and  its  people,  and  shrank  a 
little  from  the  grand  life  opening  before  her.  She  had 
once  spent  a  few  days  at  Tracy  Park,  as  Arthur's  guest, 
and  had  felt  great  restraint  even  in  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Crawford  and  Amy,  whom  she  recognized  as  ladies,  not- 
withstanding their  position  in  the  house.  On  that  occasion 
she  had,  with  her  brother-in-law,  been  invited  to  dine  at 
Brier  Hill,  the  country-seat  of  Mrs.  Grace  Atherton,  where 
she  had  been  so  completely  overawed,  that  she  did  not  know 
what  half  the  dishes  were,  or  what  she  was  expected  to  do. 
But,  by  watching  Arthur,  and  declining  some  things  which 
she  felt  sure  were  beyond  her  comprehension,  she  managed 
tolerably  well,  though  when  the  dinner  was  over,  and  she 
could  breathe  freely  again,  she  found  that  the  back  of  her 
new  silk  gown  was  wet  with  perspiration,  which  had  oozed 
from  every  pore  during  the  hour  and  a  half  she  had  sat  at 
the  table.  "  Such  folderol  1"  she  said  to  a  friend,  to  whom 
she  was  describing  the  dinner.  "  Such  folderol  !  Chang- 
ing your  plates  all  the  time — eating  peas  in  the  winter, 
with  nothing  under  the  sun  with  them,  and  drinking  coffee 


MR.    AND    MRS.    FRANK    TRACT.  21 

out  of  a  cup  about  as  big  as  a  thimble.  Give  me  the  good 
old-fashioned  way,  I  say,  with  peas  and  potatoes,  and 
meat,  and  things,  and  cups  that  will  hold  half  a  pint  and 
have  some  thickness  that  you  can  feel  in  your  mouth." 

And  now  she  was  to  exchange  the  good,  old-fashioned 
way  for  what  she  termed  "  folderol,"  and  for  a  time  she 
did  not  like  it.  But  her  husband  was  so  delighted  and 
eager,  that  he  succeeded  in  impressing  her  with  some  of 
his  enthusiasm,  and  after  he  had  returned  to  his  grocery, 
and  her  dishes  were  washed,  she  removed  her  large 
kitchen  apron,  and  pulling  down  the  sleeves  of  her  dress, 
went  and  stood  before  the  mirror,  where  she  examined 
herself  critically,  and  not  without  some  degree  of  compla- 
cency. 

Her  hair  was  black  and  glossy,  or  would  be  if  she  had 
time  to  care  for  it  as  it  ought  to  be  cared  for  ;  her  eyes 
were  large  and  bright,  and  perhaps  in  time  she  might 
learn  to  use  them  as  Mrs.  Atherton  used  hers. 

"  She  is  older  than  I  am,"  she  said  to  herself  ;  "  there 
are  crow-tracks  around  her  eyes,  and  her  complexion  is  not 
a  bit  better  than  mine  was  before  I  spoiled  it  with  soap- 
suds, and  stove-heat,  and  everything  else." 

Then  she  looked  at  her  hands,  but  they  were  red  and 
rough,  and  the  nails  were  broken,  and  not  at  all  like  the 
nails  which  an  expert  has  polished  for  an  hour  or  more. 
Mrs.  Atherton's  diamond  rings  would  be  sadly  out  of  place 
on  Dolly's  fingers,  but  time  and  abstinence  from  work 
would  do  much  for  them,  she  reflected,  and  after  all  it 
would  be  nice  to  live  in  a  grand  house,  ride  in  a  handsome 
carriage,  and  keep  a  hired  girl  to  do  the  heavy  work.  So, 
on  the  whole,  she  began  to  feel  quite  reconciled,  and  to 
wonder  how  she  ought  to  conduct  herself  in  view  of  her 
future  position.  She  had  intended  going  to  the  circus 
that  night,  but  she  gave  that  up,  telling  her  husband  that 
it  was  a  second-class  amusement  any  way,  and  she  did  not 
believe  that  either  Mrs.  Atherton  or  the  young  lady  at 
Collingwood  patronized  such  places.  So  they  stayed  at 
home  and  talked  together  of  what  they  should  do  at 
Tracy  Park,  and  wondered  if  it  was  their  duty  to  ask  all 
their  Langley  friends  to  visit  them.  Mrs.  Frank  decided 
that  it  was.  She  was  not  going  to  begin  by  being  stuck 
up,  she  said  ;  and  when  she  left  Langley  four  weeks  later, 


22  MB.    AND    MRS.    FRANK    TRACT. 

every  man,  woman,  and  child  of  her  familiar  acquaintance 
in  town,  had  been  heartily  invited  to  call  upon  her  at 
Tracy  Park,  if  ever  they  came  that  way. 

Frank  had  disposed  of  his  business  at  a  reasonable 
price,  and  had  rented  his  house  with  all  the  furniture, 
except  such  articles  as  his  wife  insisted  upon  taking  with 
her.  The  bureau,  and  bedstead,  and  chairs  which  she  and 
Frank  had  bought  together  in  Springfield  just  before  their 
marriage,  the  Boston  rocker  in  which  her  old  mother  had 
sat  until  the  day  she  died,  the  cradle  in  which  she  had 
rocked  her  baby  boy  who  was  lying  in  the  Langley  grave^ 
yard,  were  dear  to  the  wife  and  mother,  and  though  her 
husband  told  her  she  could  have  no  use  for  them,  there 
was  enough  of  sentiment  in  her  nature  to  make  her  cling 
to  them  as  something  of  the  past,  and  so  they  were  boxed 
up  and  forwarded  by  freight  to  Tracy  Park,  whither  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Tracy  followed  them  a  week  later. 

The  best  dressmaker  in  Langley  had  been  employed 
upon  the  wardrobe  of  Mrs.  Frank,  who,  in  her  traveling 
dress  of  some  stuff  goods  of  a  plaided  pattern,  too  large 
and  too  bright  to  be  quite  in  good  taste,  felt  herself  per- 
fectly au  fait,  until  she  reached  Springfield,  where  Mrs. 
Grace  Atherton,  accompanied  by  a  tall,  elegant-looking 
young  lady,  entered  the  car  and  took  a  seat  in  front  of 
her.  Neither  of  the  ladies  noticed  her,  but  she  recognized 
Mrs.  Atherton  at  once,  and  guessed  that  her  companion 
was  the  young  lady  from  Collingwood. 

Dolly  scanned  both  the  ladies  very  closely,  noticing 
every  article  of  their  costumes,  from  their  plain  linen  col- 
lars and  cuffs  to  their  quiet  dresses  of  gray,  which  seemed 
so  much  more  in  keeping  with  the  dusty  cars  than  her  buff 
and  purple  plaid. 

"  I  ain't  like  them,  and  never  shall  be,"  she  said  to 
herself,  with  a  bitter  sense  of  her  inferiority  pressing  upon 
her.  "  I  ain't  like  them,  and  never  shall  be,  if  I  live  to 
be  a  hundred.  I  wish  we  were  not  going  to  be  grand.  I 
shall  never  get  used  to  it/'  and  the  hot  tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes  as  she  longed  to  be  back  in  the  kitchen  where  she  had 
worked  so  hard. 

But  Dolly  did  not  know  how  readily  people  can  forget 
the  life  of  toil  behind  them,  and  adapt  themselves  to  one 
of  luxury  and  ease ;  and  with  her  the  adaptability  com- 


MR.    AND    MRS.    FRANK    TRACT.  23 

menccd  in  some  degree  the  moment  Sbannondale  station 
was  reached,  and  she  saw  the  handsome  carriage  waiting 
for  them.  A  carriage  finer  far  and  more  modern  than  the 
one  from  Collingwood,  in  which  Mrs.  Atherton  and  the 
young  lady  took  their  seats,  laughing  and  chatting  so 
gayly  that  they  did  not  see  the  woman  in  the  big  plaids 
who  stood  watching  them  with  a  rising  feeling  of  jealousy 
and  resentment,  because  she  was  not  noticed. 

But  when  the  Tracy  carriage  drew  up,  Grace  Atherton 
saw  and  recognized  her,  and  whispered,  in  an  aside  to  her 
companion  : 

"  For  goodness*  sake,  Edith,  look  !  There  are  the 
Tracys,  our  new  neighbors."  Then  she  bowed  to  Mrs. 
Tracy,  and  said :  "  Ah,  I  did  not  know  you  were  on  the 
train." 

"  I  sat  right  behind  you/'  was  Mrs.  Tracy's  rather 
ungracious  reply  ;  and  th'en,  not  knowing  whether  she 
ought  to  do  it  or  not,  she  introduced  her  husband. 

"Yes.  Mr.  Tracy — how  do  you  do'?"  was  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton's  response  ;  but  she  did  not  in  return  introduce  the 
young  girl,  whose  dark  eyes  were  scanning  the  strangers  so 
curiously  ;  and  this  Dolly  took  as  a  slight,  and  inwardly 
resented. 

But  Mrs.  Atherton  had  spoken  to  her,  and  that  was 
something,  and  helped  to  keep  her  spirits  up  as  she  was 
driven  along  the  turnpike  to  the  entrance  of  the  park. 

On  the  occasion  of  Mrs.  Frank  s  first  and  only  visit  to 
her  brother-in-law  it  was  winter,  and  everything  was  cov- 
ered with  snow.  But  it  was  summer  now,  the  month  of 
roses,  and  fragrance,  and  beauty,  and  as  the  carriage 
passed  up  the  broad,  smooth  avenue  which  led  to  the 
house,  and  Dolly's  eye  wandered  over  the  well-kept  grounds, 
sweet  with  the  scent  of  newly-mown  grass,  and  filled  with 
every  adornment  which  taste  can  devise  or  money  procure, 
she  felt  within  her  the  first  stirring  of  the  pride,  and  satis- 
faction, and  self-assertion  which  were  to  grow  upon  her  so 
rapidly  and  transform  her  from  the  plain,  unpretentious 
woman  who  had  washed,  and  ironed,  and  baked,  and 
mended  in  the  small  house  in  Langley,  into  the  arrogant, 
haughty  lady  of  fashion,  who  courted  only  the  rich,  and 
looked  down  upon  her  less  fortunate  neighbors.  Now, 
however,  she  was  very  meek  and  humble,  and  trembled  as 


24  GETTING    ACCUSTOMED    TO    IT. 

she  alighted  from  the  carriage  before  the  great  stone  house 
which  was  to  be  her  home. 

"  Isn't  this  grand,  Dolly  ?"  her  husband  said,  rubbing 
his  hands  together,  and  looking  about  him  complacently. 

"  Yes,  very  grand/'  Dolly  answered  him  ;  "  but  some- 
how it  makes  me  feel  weaker  than  water.  I  suppose, 
though,  I  shall  get  accustomed  to  it." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

GETTINQ  ACCUSTOMED  TO  IT. 

TN  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Crawford,  who  for  a  week  or 
-*-  more  had  been  domesticated  in  the  cottage  which 
Arthur  had  given  her,  there  was  no  one  to  receive  the 
strangers  except  the  cook  and  the  house-maid,  and  as  Mrs. 
Tracy  entered  the  hall  the  two  came  forward,  bristling 
with  criticism,  and  ready  to  resent  anything  like  interfer- 
ence in  the  new-comers. 

The  servants  at  the  park  had  not  been  pleased  with  the 
change  of  administration.  That  Mr.  Arthur  was  a  gentle- 
man whom  it  was  an  honor  to  serve,  they  all  conceded ; 
but  with  regard  to  the  new  master  and  mistress,  they  had 
grave  doubts.  Although  none  of  them  had  been  at  the 
park  on  the  occasion  of  Mrs.  Tracy's  first  visit  there,  many 
rumors  concerning  her  had  reached  them,  and  she  would 
scarcely  have  recognized  herself  could  she  have  heard  the 
remarks  of  which  she  was  the  subject.  That  she  had 
worked  in  a  factory — which  was  true — was  her  least  offense, 
for  it  was  whispered  that  once,  when  the  winter  was 
unusually  severe,  and  work  scarce,  she  had  gone  to  a  soup- 
house,  and  even  asked  and  procured  coal  from  the  poor- 
master  for  herself  and  her  mother. 

This  was  not  true,  and  would  have  argued  nothing 
against  her  as  a  woman  if  it  had  been,  but  the  cook  and 
the  house-maid  believed  it,  and  passed  sundry  jokes 
together  while  preparing  to  meet  "  the  pauper,"  as  they 
designated  her. 


GETTING    ACCUSTOMED    TO    IT.  25 

In  this  state  of  things  their  welcome  could  not  be  very 
cordial,  but  Mrs.  Tracy  was  too  tired  and  too  much  excited 
to  observe  their  demeanor  particularly.  They  were  civil, 
and  the  house  was  in  perfect  order,  and  so  much  larger 
and  handsomer  than  she  had  thought  it  to  be,  that  she  felt 
bewildered  and  embarrassed,  and  said  "Yes  'em,"  and 
"No,  ma'am,"  to  Martha,  and  told  Sarah,  who  was  wait- 
ing at  dinner,  that  she  "might  as  well  sit  down  in  a  chair 
as  to  stand  all  the  time;  she  presumed  she  was  tired  with 
so  many  extra  steps  to  take." 

But  Sarah  knew  her  business,  and  persisted  in  standing, 
and  inflicting  upon  the  poor  woman  as  much  ceremony  as 
possible,  and  then,  in  the  kitchen,  she  repeated  to  the 
cook  and  the  coachman,  with  sundry  embellishments  of 
her  own,  the  particulars  of  the  dinner,  amid  peals  of  laugh- 
ter at  the  expense  of  the  would-be  lady. 

It  was  hardly  possible  that  mistress  and  maids  would 
stay  together  long,  especially  as  Mrs.  Tracy,  when  a  little 
more  assured,  and  a  little  less  in  awe  of  her  servants,  began 
to  show  a  disposition  to  know  by  personal  observation  what 
was  going  on  in  the  kitchen,  and  to  hint  broadly  that  there 
was  too  much  waste  here  and  expenditure  there,  and  quite 
too  much  company  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 

"She  didn't  propose  to  keep  a  boarding-house,"  she 
said,  "  or  to  support  families  outside,  and  the  old  woman 
who  came  so  often  to  the  basement  door  with  a  big  basket 
under  her  cloak  must  discontinue  her  calls." 

Then  there  occurred  one  of  those  Hibernian  cyclones, 
which  sweep  everything  before  them,  and  which  in  this 
instance  swept  Mrs.  Tracy  out  of  the  kitchen  for  the  time 
being,  and  the  cook  out  of  the  house.  Her  self-respect, 
she  said,  would  not  allow  her  to  stay  with  a  woman  who 
knew  just  how  much  coal  was  burned,  how  much  butter 
was  used,  and  how  much  bread  was  thrown  away,  and 
who  objected  to  giving  a  bite  now  and  then  to  a  poor 
old  woman,  who,  poor  as  she  was,  had  never  yet  been 
helped  by  the  poor-master,  or  gone  to  a  soup-house,  like 
my  lady! 

Martha's  departure  was  followed  by  that  of  Sarah,  and 

then  Mrs.  Tracy  was  alone,  and  for  a  few  days  enjoyed 

herself  immensely,  cooking  her  own  dinner,  and  eating  it 

when  and  where  she  liked — in  the  kitchen  mostly,  as  that 

2 


26  GETTING    ACCUSTOMED    TO    IT. 

kept  the  flies  from  the  dining-room,  and  saved  her  many 
steps,  for  Dolly  was  beginning  to  find  that  there  was  a 
vast  difference  between  keeping  a  house  with  six  rooms  and 
one  with  thirty  or  more. 

Her  husband  urged  her  to  try  a  new  servant,  saying 
there  was  no  necessity  for  her  to  make  a  slave  of  herself ; 
but  she  refused  to  listen.  Economy  was  a  part  of  her 
nature,  and  besides  that  she  meant  to  show  them  that  she 
was  perfectly  independent  of  the  whole  tribe ;  the  tribe 
and  them  referring  to  the  hired  girls  alone,  for  she  knew 
no  one  else  in  town. 

No  one  had  called,  and  a  bow  from  Mrs.  Atherton,  whom 
ghe  had  seen  at  church  was  all  the  recognition  she  had 
received  from  her  neighbors  up  to  the  hot  July  morning,  a 
week  or  more  after  the  house-maid's  departure,  when  she 
was  busy  in  the  kitchen  canning  black  raspberries,  of  which 
the  garden  was  full. 

Like  many  housekeepers  who  do  their  own  work,  Dolly 
was  not  very  particular  with  regard  to  her  dress  in  the 
morning,  and  on  this  occasion  her  hair  was  drawn  from 
her  rather  high  forehead,  and  twisted  into  a  hard  knot 
at  the  back  of  her  head  ;  her  calico  dress  hung  straight 
down,  for  she  was  minus  hoops,  which  in  those  days  were 
very  large  ;  her  sleeves  were  rolled  above  her  elbows,  and, 
as  a  protection  against  the  juice  of  the  berries,  she  wore  an 
apron  made  of  sacking.  In  this  garb,  and  with  no  thought 
of  being  interrupted,  she  kept  on  with  her  work  until  the 
last  kettle  of  fruit  was  boiling  and  bubbling  on  the  stove, 
and  she  was  just  glancing  at  the  clock  to  see  if  it  were 
time  to  put  over  the  peas  for  dinner,  when  there  came  a 
quick,  decisive  ring  at  the  front  door. 

"  Who  can  that  be?"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  wiped 
her  hands  upon  her  apron.  "  Some  peddler,  I  dare  say. 
Whv  couldn't  he  come  round  to  the  kitchen  door,  I'd  like 
to  know?" 

She  had  been  frequently  troubled  with  peddlers  and  feel- 
ing certain  that  this  was  one — she  started  for  the  door  in 
no  very  amiable  frame  of  mind,  for  peddlers  were  her 
abomination.  Something  ailed  the  key,  which  resisted  all 
her  efforts  to  turn  it ;  and  at  last,  putting  her  mouth  to 
the  keyhole,  she  called  out,  rather  sharply: 

"  Go  to  the  back  door,  I  can't  open  this." 


GETTING    ACCVSTOMED    TO    IT.  2? 

Then,  as  she  caught  a  whiff  of  burnt  sirup,  she  hurried 
to  the  kitchen,  where  she  found  that  her  berries  had  boiled 
over,  and  were  hissing  and  sputtering  on  the  hot  stove, 
raising  a  cloud  of  smoke  so  dense  that  she  did  not  see  the 
person  who  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  until  a 
voice  wholly  unlike  that  of  any  peddler  said  to  her  : 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Tracy.  I  hope  I  am  not  intrud- 
ing." 

Then  she  turned,  and,  to  her  horror  and  surprise,  saw- 
Grace  Atherton,  attired  in  the  coolest  and  daintiest  of 
morning  costumes,  with  a  jaunty  French  bonnet  set 
coquettishly  upon  her  head,  and  a  silver  card-case  in  her 
hand. 

For  the  moment  Dolly's  wits  forsook  her,  and  she  stood 
looking  at  her  visitor,  who,  perfectly  at  her  ease,  advanced 
into  the  room,  and  said  : 

'•  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Tracy,  for  this  morn- 
ing call.  I  came — " 

But  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  by  this  time 
Dolly  had  recovered  herself  a  little,  and  throwing  off  her 
apron,  began  nervously: 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all.  I  supposed  you  were  some 
peddler  or  agent  when  I  sent  you  to  this  door.  They  are 
the  plague  of  my  life,  and  think  I'll  buy  everything  and 
give  to  everything  because  Arthur  did.  I  am  doing  my 
own  work,  you  see.  Come  into  the  parlor;"  and  she  led 
the  way  into  the  dark  drawing-room,  where  the  chairs  and 
sofas  were  shrouded  in  white  linen,  and  looked  like  so 
many  ghosts  in  the  dim,  uncertain  light. 

But  Dolly  opened  one  of  the  windows,  and  pushing 
back  the  blinds,  let  in  a  flood  of  sunshine,  so  strong  and 
bright  that  she  at  once  closed  the  shutters,  saying,  apolo- 
getically, that  she  did  not  believe  in  fading  the  carpets,  if 
they  were  not  her  own.  Then  she  sat  down  upon  an  otto- 
man and  faced  her  visitor,  who  was  regarding  her  with  a 
mixture  of  amusement  and  wonder. 

Grace  Atherton  was  an  aristocrat  to  her  very  finger- 
tips, and  shrank  from  contact  with  anything  vulgar  and 
unsightly,  and,  to  her  mind,  Mrs.  Tracy  represented  both, 
and  seemed  sadly  out  of  place  in  that  handsome  room,  with 
her  sleeves  rolled  up  and  the  berry  stains  on  her  hands  and 
face.  Grace  knew  nothing  by  actual  experience  of  canning 


28  GETTING    ACCUSTOMED    TO    IT. 

berries,  or  aprons  made  of  sacking,  or  of  bare  arms,  except 
it  were  of  an  evening  when  they  showed  white  and  fair 
against  her  satin  gown,  with  bands  of  gold  and  precious 
stones  upon  them,  and  she  felt  that  there  was  an  immeasur- 
able distance  between  herself  and  this  woman,  whom  she 
had  come  to  see  partly  on  business  and  partly  because  she 
thought  she  must  call  upon  her  for  the  sake  of  Arthur 
Tracy,  who  was  one  of  her  friends. 

Her  cook,  who  had  been  with  her  seven  years,  had  gone 
to  attend  a  sick  mother,  and  had  recommended  as  a  fit 
person  to  take  her  place  the  woman  who  had  just  left 
Tracy  Park. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  take  a  servant  without  first  knowing 
something  of  her  from  her  last  employer,"  she  said;  "and, 
if  you  don't  mind,  I  should  like  to  ask  if  Martha  left  you 
for  anything  very  bad." 

Mrs.  Tracy  colored  scarlet,  and  for  a  moment  was 
silent.  She  could  not  tell  that  fine  lady  in  the  white  mus- 
lin dress  with  seas  of  lace  and  embroidery,  that  Martha 
had  called  her  second  classy,  and  stingy,  and  snooping,  and 
mean,  because  she  objected  to  the  amount  of  coal  burned, 
and  bread  thrown  away,  and  time  consumed  at  the  table. 
All  this  she  felt  would  scarcely  interest  a  person  like  Mrs. 
Atherton,  who  might  sympathize  with  Martha  more  than 
with  herself,  so  she  finally  said: 

"  Martha  was  saucy  to  me,  and  on  the  whole  it  was  bet- 
ter for  them  all  to  go,  and  so  I  am  doing  my  own  work." 

"Doing  your  own  work  !"  and  Grace  gave  a  little  cry 
of  surprise,  while  her  shoulders  shrugged  meaningly,  and 
made  Mrs.  Tracy  almost  as  angry  as  she  had  been  with 
Martha  when  she  called  her  mean  and  stingy.  "  It  can- 
not be  possible  that  you  cook,  and  wash,  and  iron,  and  do 
everything,"  Mrs.  Atherton  continued.  "My  dear  Mrs. 
Tracy,  you  can  never  stand  it  in  a  house  like  this,  and  Mr. 
Arthur  would  not  like  it.  Why,  he  kept  as  many  as  six 
servants,  and  sometimes  more.  Pray  let  me  advise  you, 
and  commend  to  you  a  good  girl,  who  lived  with  me  three 
years,  and  can  do  everything,  from  dressing  my  hair  to 
making  blanc-mange.  I  only  parted  with  her  because  she 
was  sick,  and  now  that  she  is  well,  her  place  is  filled. 
Try  her,  and  do.  not  make  a  servant  of  yourself.  It  is  not 
fitting  that  you  should." 


GETTING    ACCUSTOMED    TO    IT.  29 

Grace  was  fond  of  giving  advice,  and  had  said  more 
than  she  intended  saying  when  she  began,  but  Mrs.  Tracy, 
though  annoyed,  was  not  angry,  and  consented  to  receive 
the  girl  who  had  lived  at  Brier  Hill  three  years,  and  who, 
she  reflected,  could  be  of  use  to  her  in  many  ways. 

"While  sitting  there  in  her  soiled  working  dress  talking 
to  Mrs.  Atherton,  she  had  felt  her  inferiority  more  keenly 
than  she  had  ever  done  before,  while  at  the  same  time  she 
was  conscious  that  a  new  set  of  ideas  and  thoughts  had 
taken  possession  of  her,  reawaking  in  her  the  germ  of  that 
ambition  to  be  somebody  which  she  had  felt  so  often  when 
a  girl,  and  which  now  was  to  bud  and  blossom,  and  bear 
fruit  a  hundred  fold  She  would  take  the  girl,  and  from 
her  learn  the  ways  of  the  world  as  practiced  at  Brier  Hill. 
She  would  no  longer  wear  sacking  aprons,  and  open  the 
door  herself.  She  would  be  more  like  Grace  Atherton, 
whom  she  watched  admiringly  as  she  went  down  the  walk 
to  the  handsome  carriage  waiting  for  her,  with  driver  and 
footman  in  tall  hats  and  long  coats  on  the  box. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  fine  lady  into  which 
Dolly  finally  blossomed,  and  when  that  day  Frank  went 
home  to  his  dinner  he  noticed  something  in  her  manner 
which  he  could  not  understand  until  she  told  him  of  Mrs. 
Atherton's  call,  and  the  plight  in  which  that  lady  had 
found  her. 

"Served  you  right,"  Frank  said,  laughing  till  the 
tears  ran.  "  You  have  no  business  to  be  digging  round 
like  a  slave  when  we  are  able  to  have  what  we  like.  Arthur 
said  we  were  to  keep  up  the  place  as  he  had  done,  and  that 
does  not  mean  that  you  should  be  a  scullion.  No,  Dolly  ; 
have  all  the  girls  you  want,  and  hold  up  your  head  with 
the  best  of  them.  Get  a  new  silk  gown,  and  return  Mrs. 
Atherton's  call  at  once,  and  take  a  card  and  turn  down 
one  corner  or  the  other,  I  don't  know  which,  but  this  girl 
of  hers  can  tell  you.  Pump  her  dry  as  a  powder  horn  ; 
find  out  what  the  quality  do,  and  then  do  it,  and  don'c 
bother  about  the  expense.  I  am  going  in  for  a  good  time, 
and  don't  mean  to  work  cither.  I  told  Colvin  this  morn- 
ing that  I  thought  I  ought  to  draw  a  salary  of  about  four 
thousand  a  year,  besides  our  living  expenses,  and  though 
he  looked  at  me  pretty  sharp  over  his  spectacles,  he  said 
nothing.  Arthur  is  worth  a  million,  if  he  is  worth  a  cent. 


30  GETTING    ACCUSTOMED    TO    IT. 

So,  go  it,  Dolly,  while  you  are  young,"  and  in  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  joy,  Frank  kissed  his  wife  on  both  cheeks,  and 
then  hurried  back  to  his  office. 

That  day  they  had  dined  in  the  kitchen  with  a  leaf  of 
the  table  turned  up  as  they  had  done  in  Langley,  but  the 
next  day  they  had  dinner  in  the  dining-room,  and  were 
waited  upon  by  the  new  girl  as  well  as  it  was  possible  for 
her  to  do  with  her  mistress' interference. 

"Never  mind  ;  Mr.  Tracy's  in  a  hurry.  Give  him  his 
pie  at  once,"  she  said,  as  Susan  was  about  to  clear  the  table 
preparatory  to  the  dessert ;  but  she  repented  the  speech 
when  she  saw  the  look  of  surprise  which  the  girl  gave  her, 
and  which  expressed  more  than  words  could  have  done. 

"Better  let  her  run  herself,"  Frank  said,  when  Susan 
had  left  the  room,  "  and  if  she  wants  to  take  every  darned 
thing  off  the  table  and  tip  it  over  to  boot,  let  her  do  it. 
If  she  has  lived  three  years  with  Mrs.  Athertou,  she  knows 
what  is  what  better  than  we  do." 

"  But  it  takes  so  long,  and  I  have  so  much  to  see  to  in 
this  great  house,"  Dolly  objected,  and  her  husband 
replied  : 

"  Get  another  girl,  then ;  three  of  them  if  you  like. 
"What  matter  how  many  girls  we  have  so  long  as  Arthur 
pays  for  them  ;  and  he  is  bound  to  do  that.  He  said  so  in 
his  letter.  You  are  altogether  too  economical.  I've  told 
you  so  a  him .1  red  times,  and  now  there  is  no  need  of  sav- 
ing. I  want  to  see  you  a  lady  in  silks  and  satins  like  Mrs. 
Atherton.  Pump  that  girl,  I  tell  you,  and  find  out  what 
ladies  do  1" 

This  was  Frank's  advice  to  his  wife,  and  as  far  as  in 
her  lay  she  acted  upon  it,  and  whatever  Susan  told  her 
was  done  by  Mrs.  Atherton  at  Brier  Hill,  she  tried  to  do 
at  Tracy  Park  :  except  staying  out  of  the  kitchen.  That, 
from  her  nature,  she  could  not  do.  Consequently  she  was 
constantly  changing  cooks,  and  frequently  took  the  helm 
herself,  to  the  great  disgust  of  her  husband,  who  managed 
at  last  to  imbue  her  with  his  own  idea  of  things. 

In  course  of  time  most  of  the  neighbors  who  had  any 
claim  to  society  called,  and  among  them  Mrs.  Crawford. 
But  Mrs.  Tracy  had  then  reached  a  point  from  which  she 
looked  down  upon  one  who  had  been  housekeeper  where 
she  was  now  mistress,  and  whose  daughter's  good  name 


GETTING    ACCUSTOMED    TO    IT.  31 

was  Tinder  a  cloud,  as  there  were  some  who  did  not  believe 
that  Harold  Hastings  had  ever  made  Amy  his  wife.  When 
told  that  Mrs.  Crawford  had  asked  for  her,  Mrs.  Tracy 
sent  word  that  she  was  engaged,  and  that  if  Mrs.  Crawford 
pleased,  she  would  give  her  errand  to  the  girl. 

"  I  have  no  errand.  I  came  to  call,"  was  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford's reply.;  and  she  never  crossed  the  threshold  of  her  old 
home  again  until  the  March  winds  were  blowing,  and  there 
was  a  little  boy  at  the  park. 

At  the  last  moment  the  expected  nurse  had  fallen  sick, 
and  in  his  perplexity  Mr.  Tracy  went  to  the  cottage  in  the 
lane  and  begged  Mrs.  Crawford  to  come  and  care  for  his 
wife.  Mrs.  Crawford  was  very  proud,  but  she  was  poor, 
too,  and  as  the  price  per  week  which  Frank  offered  her  was 
four  times  as  much  as  she  could  earn  by  sewing,  she  con- 
sented at  last,  and  went  as  nurse  to  the  sick  woman  and 
the  baby,  Tom,  on  whose  little  red  face  she  imprinted 
many  a  kiss  for  the  sake  of  her  daughter,  who  was  still 
abroad,  and  over  whom  the  shadow  of  hope  and  fear  was 
hanging. 

Dolly  Tracy's  growth,  after  it  fairly  commenced,  had 
been  very  rapid,  and  when  Mrs.  Crawford  went  to  her  as 
nurse  she  had  three  servants  in  her  employ,  besides  the 
coachman,  and  was  imitating  Mrs.  Atherton  to  the  best 
of  her  ability  ;  and  when,  early  in  the  following  summer, 
they  received  the  wedding  cards  of  Edith  Hastings,  the 
young  lady  from  Collingwood,  who  had  married  a  Mr.  St. 
Claire,  she  felt  that  her  position  was  assured,  and  from 
that  time  her  progress  was  onward  and  upward  until  the 
October  morning,  ten  years  later,  when  our  story  proper 
opens,  and  we  see  her  standing  upon  the  piazza  of  her 
handsome  house,  with  every  sign  of  wealth  and  luxury 
about  her  person,  from  the  silken  robe  to  the  jewels  upon 
her  hands,  which  once  had  canned  berries  in  her  kitchen, 
where  she  received  Grace  Atherton  with  her  sleeves  above 
her  elbows. 

There  were  five  servants  in  the  house  now,  and  they 
ran  over  and  against  each  other,  and  quarreled,  and  gos- 
siped, and  worried  her  life  nearly  out  of  her,  until  she 
sometimes  wished  she  could  send  them  away,  and  do  the 
work  herself.  But  she  was  far  too  great  a  lady  for  that. 
She  was  thoroughly  up  in  etiquette,  and  did  not  need  Susan 


32  AT    THE    PARR. 

to  tell  her  what  to  do.  She  knew  all  about  visiting  cards, 
and  dinner  cards,  and  cards  of  acceptance,  and  regret,  and 
condolence,  and  she  read  much  oftener  than  she  did  her 
Bible  a  book  entitled  "  Habits  of  Good  Society." 

Three  children  played  in  the  nursery  now,  Tom,  and 
Jack,  and  Maude,  and  she  strove  with  all  her  might  to 
instill  into  their  infant  minds  that  they  were  the  Tracys 
of  Tracy  Park,  and  entitled  to  due  respect  from  their  infe- 
riors ;  and  Tom  had  profited  by  her  teaching,  and  was  the 
veriest  little  braggart  in  Shannondale,  boasting  of  his 
father's  house,  and  his  father's  money,  without  a  word  of 
the  Uncle  Arthur  wandering  no  one  knew  where,  or  cared 
particularly,  for  that  matter. 

Arthur  had  never  been  home  since  the  day  he  quitted 
it  to  look  after  Amy  Crawford,  now  lying  in  the  grave- 
yard of  Shannondale,  under  the  shadow  of  the  tall  monu- 
ment which  his  money  had  bought.  At  first  he  had  written 
frequently  to  Mrs.  Crawford,  and  occasionally  to  his 
brother,  and  his  agent,  Mr.  Colvin  ;  then  his  letters  came 
very  irregularly,  and  in  one  he  told  them  not  to  feel 
anxious  if  they  did  not  hear  from  him  in  a  long  time,  as  in 
case  of  his  death  he  had  arranged  to  have  the  news  com- 
municated to  them  at  once.  After  this  letter,  nothing  had 
been  heard  from  him  until  the  morning  when  his  telegram 
came  and  so  greatly  disturbed  the  mental  equilibrium  of 
both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank  Tracy. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

AT  THE   PAKK. 

FEAXK  had  at  first  grown  faster  than  his  wife,  and  the 
change  in  his  manner  had  been  more  perceptible  ; 
for  with  all  her  foolishness  Dolly  had  a  keener  sense  of 
right,  and  wrong,  and  justice  than  her  husband.  She  had 
opposed  him  stoutly  when  he  raised  his  own  salary  from 
$4,000  to  80,000  a  year,  on  the  plea  that  his  services  were 
worth  it,  and  that  two  thousand  more  or  less  was  noth- 


AT    THE    PARK  33 

ing  to  Arthur  ;  and  when  he  was  a  candidate  for  the  Leg- 
islature she  had  protested  against  his  inviting  to  the  house 
and  giving  beer  and  cider  to  the  men  whose  votes  he 
wanted,  and  for  whom  as  men  he  did  not  care  a  farthing ; 
but  when  lie  came  up  for  Congress  she  forgot  all  her  scru- 
ples, and  was  as  anxious  as  himself  to  please  those  who 
could  help  him  secure  the  nomination  and  afterward  the 
election.  It  was  she  who  had  proposed  the  party,  to  which 
nearly  everybody  was  to  be  invited,  from  old  Peterkin,  and 
Widow  Shipleigh,  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  St.  Claire  from  Grassy 
Spring,  Squire  Harrington  from  Collingwood,  and  Grace 
Athertan  from  Brier  Hill.  Very  few  who  could  in  any 
way  help  Frank  to  a  seat  in  Congress  were  omitted  from 
the  list,  whether  Republican  or  Democrat;  for  Frank  was 
popular  with  both  parties,  and  expected  help  from  both. 
Over  three  hundred  cards  had  been  issued  for  the  party, 
which  was  the  absorbing  topic  of  conversation  in  t'.ietown, 
and  which  brought  white  kids  and  white  muslins  into 
great  requisition,  while  swallow-tails  and  non-swallow-tails 
were  discussed  in  the  privacy  of  households,  and  discarded 
or  decided  upon  according  to  the  length  of  the  masculine 
purse  or  the  strength  of  the  masculine  resista»««,  for  dress- 
coats  were  not  then  the  rule  in  Shannondale.  Old  Peter- 
kin,  however,  whom  Frank  in  his  soliloquy  had  designated 
a  canal  bummer,  was  resolved  to  show  that  he  knew  what 
was  aufait  for  the  occasion  and  a  new  suit  throughout  was 
in  progress  of  making  for  him.  "Tracy  should  have  his 
vote  and  that  of  fifty  more  of  the  boys  to  pay  for  his  ticket 
to  the  doin's,"  he  said  ;  and  this  speech,  which  was  reported 
to  Mrs.  Tracy,  reconciled  her  to  the  prospect  of  receiving 
as  a  guest  the  coarsest,  roughest  man  in  town,  whose  only 
recommendation  was  his  money  and  the  brute  influence  he 
exercised  over  a  certain  class. 

Dolly  hud  scarcely  slept  for  excitement  since  the  party 
had  been  decided  upon,  and  every  ting  seemed  to  be  mov- 
ing on  very  smoothly  until  the  morning  of  the  day  appointed 
for  the  party,  when  it  seemed  as  if  every  evil  came  at  once. 
First  the  colored  boy,  who  was  to  wait  in  the  upper  hall, 
was  attacked  with  measles.  Then  Grace  Atherton  drove 
round  to  say  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  be  pres- 
ent, as  she  had  received  news  from  New  York  which  made 
it  necessary  for  her  to  go  there  by  the  next  train.  She 
2* 


34  AT    THE    PARK 

was  exceedingly  sorry,  she  said,  and  for  once  in  her  life 
Grace  was  sincere.  She  was  anxious  to  attend  the  party, 
for,  as  she  said  to  Edith  St.  Claire  in  confidence,  she 
wanted  to  see  old  Peterkin  in  his  swallow-tail  and  white 
vest,  with  a  shirt-front  as  hig  as  a  platter.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  sarcasm  and  ridicule  in  Grace  Atherton's 
nature,  but  at  heart  she  was  kind  and  meant  to  be  just, 
and  after  a  fashion  really  liked  Mrs.  Tracy,  to  whom  she 
had  been  of  service  in  various  ways,  helping  her  to  fill  her 
new  position  more  gracefully  than  she  could  otherwise  have 
done,  and  enlightening  her  without  seeming  to  do  so  on 
many  points  which  puzzled  her  sorely.  On  the  whole  they 
were  good  friends,  and,  after  expressing  her  regret  that  she 
could  not  be  present  in  the  evening,  Grace  stood  a  few 
moments  chatting  familiarly  and  offering  to  send  over 
flowers  from  her  greenhouse,  and  her  own  maid  to  arrange 
Mrs.  Tracy's  hair  and  assist  her  in  dressing.  Then  she 
took  her  leave,  and  it  was  her  carriage  which  Mrs.  Tracy 
was  watching  as  it  went  down  the  avenue,  when  little  Har- 
old Hastings  appeared  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  and, 
coming  up  the  steps,  took  off  his  cap  respectfully,  as  he 
said  : 

"  Grandma  sends  you  her  compliments,  and  is  very 
sorry  that  she  has  rheumatism  this  morning,  and  can't 
come  to-night  to  help  you.  She  thinks,  perhaps,  you  can 
get  Mrs.  Mosher." 

"  Your  grandmother  can't  come,  when  I  depended  so 
much  upon  her  ;  and  she  thinks  I  can  get  Mrs.  Mosher, 
that  termagant,  who  would  raise  a  mutiny  in  the  kitchen 
in  an  hour!"  Mrs.  Tracy  said,  so  sharply  that  a  flush 
mounted  to  the  handsome  face  of  the  boy,  who  felt  as  if  he 
were  in  some  way  a  culprit  and  being  reprimanded.  "  She 
must  come,  if  she  does  nothing  but  sit  in  the  kitchen  and 
keep  order,"  was  Mrs.  Tracy's  next  remark. 

"  She  can't,"  Harold  replied  ;  "her  foot  and  ankle  is 
all  swelled,  and  aches  so  she  almost  cries.  She  is  awful 
sorry,  and  so  am  I,  for  I  was  coming  with  her  to  see  the 
show." 

This  put  a  new  idea  into  Mrs.  Tracy's  mind,  and  she 
said  to  the  boy  : 

"  How  would  you  like  to  come  any  way,  and  stay  in  the 
upper  hall,  and  tell  the  people  where  to  go  ?  The  boy  I 


AT    THE    PARK.  85 

engaged  has  disappointed  me.  You  are  rather  small  for 
the  place,  but  I  guess  you'll  do,  and  I  will  give  you  fifty 
cents." 

"  I'd  like  it  first-rate,"  Harold  said,  his  face  brighten  ing 
at  the  thought  of  earning  fifty  cents  and  seeing  the  show 
at  the  same  time. 

Half-dollars  were  not  very  plentiful  with  Harold,  and 
he  was  trying  to  save  enough  to  buy  his  grandmother  a 
pair  of  spectacles,  for  he  had  heard  her  say  that  she  could 
not  thread  her  needle  as  readily  as  she  once  did,  and  must 
have  glasses  as  soon  as  she  had  the  money  to  spare.  Har- 
old had  seen  a  pair  at  the  drug-store  for  one  dollar,  and 
without  knowing  at  all  whether  they  would  fit  his  grand- 
mother's eyes  or  not,  hud  asked  the  druggist  to  keep  them 
until  he  had  the  required  amount.  Fifty  cents  would  just 
make  it,  and  he  promised  at  once  that  he  would  come  ;  but 
in  an  instant  there  fell  a  shadow  upon  his  face  as  he 
thought  of  Tom,  his  tormentor,  who  worried  him  so 
much. 

"What  is  it?"  Mrs.  Tracy  asked,  as  she  detected  in 
him  a  disposition  to  reconsider. 

"  Will  Tom  be  up  in  the  hall  ?"  Harold  asked. 

"  Of  course  not,"  Mrs.  Tracy  replied.  "  He  will  be  in 
the  parlors  until  ten  o'clock,  and  then  he  will  go  to  bed. 
Why  do  you  a<k  ?" 

•'Because,"  Harold  answered,  fearlessly,  "if  he  was  to 
be  there,  I  could  not  come  ;  he  chaffs  me  so  and  twits  me 
with  being  poor  and  living  in  a  house  his  uncle  gave  us." 

"  That  is  very  naughty  in  him,  and  I  will  see  chat  he 
behaves  better  in  future,"  Mrs.  Tracy  said,  rather  amused 
than  otherwise  at  the  boy's  frankness. 

As  the  mention  of  the  uncle  reminded  Harold  of  the 
telegram,  he  took  it  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to 
her. 

"Mr.  Tracy  said  I  was  to  bring  you  this.  It's  from 
Mr.  Arthur,  and  he  is  coming  to-night.  I'm  so  glad,  and 
grandma  will  be,  too  !" 

If  Mrs.  Tracy  heard  the  last  of  Harold's  speech  she  did 
not  heed  it,  for  she  had  caught  the  words  that  Arthur  was 
coming  that  night,  and,  for  a  moment,  she  felt  giddy  and 
faint,  and  her  hand  shook  go  she  could  scarcely  open  th« 
telegram. 


36  AT    THE   PARK 

Arthur  had  been  gone  so  long  and  left  them  in  undis- 
puted possession  of  the  park,  that  she  had  come  to  feel  as 
if  it  belonged  to  them  by  right,  and  she  had  grown  so 
accustomed  to  a  life  of  ease  and  luxury,  that  to  give  it  up 
now  and  go  back  to  Langley  seemed  impossible  to  her. 

It  never  occurred  to  Dolly  that  they  might  possibly 
remain  at  the  park  if  Arthur  did  come  home.  She  felt 
sure  they  could  not,  for  Arthur  would  hardly  approve  of 
his  brother's  stewardship  when  he  came  to  realize  how  much 
it  had  cost  him.  They  would  have  to  leave,  and  this  party 
she  was  giving  would  be  her  first  and  last  at  Tracy  Park. 
How  she  wished  she  had  never  thought  of  it,  or,  having 
thought  of  it,  that  she  had  omitted  from  the  list  those 
who,  she  knew,  would  be  obnoxious  to  the  foreign  brother, 
and  who  had  only  been  invited  for  the  sake  of  their  poli- 
tical influence,  which  might  now  be  useless,  for  Frank 
Tracy  as  a  nobody,  with  very  little  money  to  spend,  would 
not  run  as  well,  even  in  his  own  party,  as  Frank  Tracy  of 
Tracy  Park,  with  thousands  at  his  command  if  he  chose  to 
take  them. 

"  It  is  too  bad,  and  I  wish  we  could  give  up  the  party," 
she  said  aloud,  forgetting  that  Harold  was  still  standing 
there.  "  You  here  yet  ?  I  thought  you  had  gone  !"  she 
continued,  as  she  recovered  herself  and  met  the  boy's 
wondering  eyes. 

"  Yes'm  ;  but  you  ain't  going  to  give  the  party  up  ?"  he 
said,  afraid  of  losing  his  half  dollar. 

"  Of  course  not.  How  can  I,  with  all  the  people 
invited  ?"  she  asked,  questioningly,  and  a  little  less 
sharply. 

"I  don't  know,  unless  I  get  a  pony  and  go  round  and 
tell  'em  not  to  come,"  Harold  suggested,  thinking  he 
might  earn  his  fifty  cents  as  easily  that  way  as  any  other. 

But,  much  as  Mrs.  Tracy  wished  the  party  had  never 
been  thought  of,  she  could  not  now  abandon  it,  and 
declining  the  services  of  Harold  and  the  pony,  she  again 
bade  him  go  home,  with  a  charge  that  he  should  be  on 
time  in  the  evening,  adding,  as  she  surveyed  him  criti- 
cally : 

"If  you  have  no  clothes  suitable,  you  can  wear  some  of 
Tom's.  You  are  about  his  size." 

'*  Thank  you;  I  have  my  meetin'  clothes,  and  do  not 


AT    THE    PARE.  37 

want  Tom's,"  was  Harold's  reply,  as  he  walked  away, 
thinking  he  would  go  in  rags  before  he  would  wear  any- 
thing which  belonged  to  his  enemy,  Tom  Tracy. 

The  rest  of  the  morning  was  passed  by  Mrs.  Frank  in 
a  most  unhappy  frame  of  mind,  and  she  was  glad  when  at 
an  hour  earlier  than  she  had  reason  to  expect  him,  her  hus- 
band came  home. 

"  \Vell,  Dolly,"  he  said,  the  moment  they  were  alone, 
"  this  is  awfully  unlucky,  the  whole  business.  If  Arthur 
must  come  home,  why  couldn't  he  have  written  in  advance, 
and  not  take  us  by  surprise  ?  Looks  as  if  he  meant  to 
spring  a  trap  on  us,  don't  it  ?  And  if  he  does,  by  Jove,  he 
has  caught  us  nicely.  It  will  be  somewhat  like  the  prod- 
igal sou,  who  heard  the  sound  of  music  and  dancing,  only 
I  don't  suppose  Arthur  has  spent  his  substance  in  riotous 
living,  with  not  over  nice  people;  but  there  is  no  telling 
what  he  has  been  up  to  all  these  years  that  he  has  not 
written  to  us.  Perhaps  he  is  married.  He  said  in  his 
telegram,  '  Send  to  meet  us.'  What  does  that  mean,  if 
not  a  wife  ?" 

"A  wife  ?  Oh,  Frank  I"  and  with  a  great  gasp  Dolly 
sank  down  upon  the  lounge  near  where  she  was  standing, 
and  actually  went  into  the  hysterics  her  husband  had 
prophesied. 

In  reading  the  telegram  she  had  not  noticed  the  little 
monosyllable  "us,"  which  was  now  affecting  her  so  power- 
fully. Of  course  it  meant  a  wife  and  possibly  children, 
and  her  day  was  surely  over  at  Tracy  Park.  It  was  in  vain 
that  her  husband  tried  to  comfort  her,  saying  that  they 
knew  nothing  positively,  except  that  Arthur  was  coming 
home  and  somebody  was  coming  with  him;  it  might  be  a 
friend,  or,  what  was  more  likely,  it  might  be  a  valet;  and 
at  all  events  he  was  not  going  to  cross  Fox  River  till  he 
reached  it,  when  he  might  find  a  bridge  across  it. 

But  Frank's  reasoning  did  not  console  his  wife,  whose 
hysterical  fit  was  succeeded  by  a  racking  headache,  which 
by  night  was  almost  unbearable.  Strong  coffee,  aconite, 
brandy,  and  belladonna,  were  all  tried  without  effect. 
Nothing  helped  her  until  she  commenced  her  toilet,  when, 
in  the  excitement  of  dressing  she  partly  forgot  her  dis- 
quietude, and  the  pain  in  her  head  grew  less.  Still  she  was 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  wretchedness  and  regret  as  she  sat 


88  THE    COTTAGE 

in  her  handsome  boudoir  and  felt  that  on  the  morrow 
another  might  be  mistress  where  she  had  reigned  so  long. 
It  was  known  in  the  house  that  Arthur  was  expected, 
and  some  one  with  him,  but  no  hint  had  been  given  of  a 
wife,  and  Mrs.  Tracy  hud  ordered  separate  rooms  prepared 
for  the  strangers,  who  were  to  arrive  on  the  half-past  ten 
train.  How  she  should  manage  to  keep  up  and  appeal- 
natural  until  that  time  she  did  not  know,  and  her 
face  and  eyes  wore  an  anxious,  frightened  look,  which  all 
her  finery  could  not  hide.  And  still  she  was  really  very 
handsome  and  striking  in  her  dress  of  peach  blow  satin, 
and  lace,  when  at  last  she  descended  to  the  drawing-room 
and  stood  waiting  for  the  first  ring  which  would  open  the 
party. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   COTTAGE   IN   THE   LANE. 

IT  was  so  called  because  it  stood  at  the  end  of  a  broad, 
grassy  avenue  or  lane,  which  led  from  the  park  to  the 
entrance  of  the  grounds  of  Collingwood,  whose  chimneys 
und  gables  were  distinctly  visible  in  the  winter  when  the 
trees  were  stripped  of  their  foliage.  At  the  time  when 
Mrs.  Crawford  took  possession  of  it  its  color  was  red,  but 
the  storms  and  rains  of  eleven  summers  and  winters  had 
washed  nearly  all  the  red  away;  and  as  Mrs.  Crawford  had 
never  had  the  money  to  spare  for  its  repainting,  it  would 
have  presented  a  brown  and  dingy  appearance  outwardly, 
but  for  the  luxurious  woodbine,  which  she  had  trained 
with  so  much  care  and  skill  that  it  covered  nearly  three 
sides  of  the  cottage,  and  made  a  gorgeous  display  in  the 
autumn,  when  the  leaves  had  turned  a  bright  scarlet. 

Thanks  to  the  thoughtfulness  of  Arthur  Tracy,  the  cot- 
tage was  furnished  comfortably  and  even  prettily  when 
Mrs.  Crawford  entered  it,  and  it  was  from  the  same  kind 
friend  that  her  resources  mostly  had  come  up  to  the  day 
when,  three  years  after  her  marriage,  Amy  Hastings  came 
home  to  die,  bringing  with  her  a  little  two-year-old  boy, 


IN    THE    LANE  89 

whom  she  called  Harold,  for  his  father.  Just  where  the 
father  was,  if  indeed  he  weixs  1!  '  _j,  she  did  not  know. 
He  had  left  her  in  London  six  months  before,  saying  he 
was  going  to  Paris  for  a  few  days,  and  should  be  buck 
before  she  had  time  to  miss  him.  Just  before  he  left  her 
he  said  to  her,  playfully: 

"  Cheer  up,  petite.  I  have  not  been  quite  as  regular  in 
my  habits  as  I  ought  to  have  been,  but  London  is  not  the 
place  for  a  man  of  my  tastes — too  many  temptations  for  a 
fellow  like  me.  When  I  come  back  we  will  go  into  the 
country,  where  you  can  have  a  garden,  with  flowers  and 
chickens,  and  grow  fat  and  pretty  again.  You  are  not 
much  like  the  girl  I  married.  Good  by/5  Then  he  kissed 
her  and  the  baby,  and  went  whistling  down  the  stairs.  She 
never  saw  him  again,  and  only  heard  from  him  once.  Then 
he  was  iu  Pan,  where  he  said  they  were  having  such  fine 
fox  hunts.  Weeks  went  by  and  he  neither  wrote  nor  came, 
and  Amy  would  have  been  utterly  destitute  and  friendless, 
but  for  Arthur  Tracy,  who,  when  her  need  was  greatest, 
went  to  her,  telling  her  that  he  had  never  been  far  from 
her,  but  had  watched  over  her  vigilantly  to  see  that  no 
harm  came  to  her.  When  her  husband  went  to  Paris  he 
knew  it  through  a  detective,  and  from  the  same  source 
knew  when  he  went  to  Pau,  where  all  trace  of  him  had 
been  lost. 

"But  we  aresure  to  find  him,"  he  said,  encouragingly  ; 
"and  meantime  I  shall  see  that  you  do  not  suffer.  As  an 
old  friend  of  your  husband,  you  will  allow  me  to  care  for 
you  until  he  is  found." 

And  Amy,  who  had  no  alternative,  accepted  his  care, 
and  tried  to  seem  cheerful  and  brave  while  waiting  for  the 
husband  who  never  came  back. 

At  last  when  all  hope  was  gone,  Arthur  sent  her  home 
to  the  cottage  in  the  lane,  where  her  mother  received  her 
gladly,  thanking  Heaven  that  she  had  her  daughter  back 
again.  But  not  for  long.  Poor  Amy's  heart  was  broken. 
She  loved  her  husband  devotedly,  and  his  cruel  desertion 
of  her — for  she  knew  now  it  was  that — hurt  her  more  than 
years  of  suffering  with  him  could  have  done.  Occasionally 
she  hoard  from  Arthur,  who  was  still  busy  in  search  of  the 
delinquent,  and  who  always  sent  in  his  letter  a  substantial 
proof  of  his  friendship  and  generosity. 


40  THE    C01TAGE 

And  so  the  weeks  and  months  went  by,  and  then  there 
came  a  letter  from  Arthur  saying  that  Harold  Hastings 
had  died  in  Berlin,  and  been  buried  at  his  expense. 

A  few  weeks  later  and  Amy,  too,  lay  dead  in  her  coffin  ; 
and  they  buried  her  under  the  November  snow,  which  was 
falling  in  great  sheets  upon  the  frozen  ground.  What 
Arthur  felt  when  he  heard  the  news  no  one  ever  knew,  for 
he  made  no  sign,  but  at  once  gave  orders  to  Colvin  that  a 
costly  monument  should  be  placed  at  her  grave,  with  only 
this  inscription  upon  it  : 

AMY, 
Aged  23. 

Of  course  the  low-minded  people  talked,  and  Mrs. 
Crawford  knew  they  did  ;  but  her  heart  was  too  full  of  sor- 
row to  care  what  was  said.  Her  beautiful  daughter  was 
dead,  and  she  was  alone  with  the  little  boy,  who  hud  inher- 
ited his  mother's  beauty,  with  all  her  lovely  traits  of  char- 
acter. Had  Mrs.  Crawford  consented,  Arthur  would  have 
supported  him  entirely;  but  she  was  too  proud  for  that. 
She  would  take  care  of  him  herself  as  long  as  possible,  she 
wrote  him,  but  if,  when  Harold  was  older,  he  chose  to  edu- 
cate him,  she  would  offer  uo  objection. 

And  there  the  matter  dropped,  and  Mrs.  Crawford 
struggled  on  as  best  she  could,  sometimes  going  out  to  do 
plain  sewing,  sometimes  taking  it  home,  sometimes  going 
to  people's  houses  to  superintend  when  they  had  company, 
and  sometimes  selling  fruit  and  flowers  from  the  garden 
attached  to  the  cottage.  But  whatever  she  did,  she  was 
always  the  same  quiet,  lady-like  woman,  who  commanded 
the  respect  of  all,  and  who,  poor  as  she  was,  was  held  in 
high  esteem  by  the  better  class  in  Shannondale.  Grace 
Atherton's  carriage  and  that  of  Edith  St.  Claire  stood 
of tener  before  her  door  than  that  at  Tracy  Park  ;  and 
though  the  ladies  came  mostly  on  business,  they  found 
themselves  lingering  after  the  business  was  over  to  talk 
with  one  who,  in  everything  save  money,  was  their  equal. 

Harold  was  a  noble  little  fellow,  full  of  manly  instincts, 
and  always  ready  to  deny  himself  for  the  sake  of  others. 
That  he  and  his  grandmother  were  poor  he  knew,  but  he 
had  never  felt  the  effects  of  their  poverty,  save  when  Tom 
Tracy  had  jeered  at  him  for  it,  and  called  him  a  pauper. 


IF    THE   LANE.  41 

There  bad  been  one  square  fight  between  the  two  boys,  in 
which  Harold  had  come  off  victor,  with  only  a  torn  jacket, 
while  Tom's  eye  bad  been  black  for  a  week,  and  Mrs. 
Tracy  had  gone  to  the  cottage  to  complain,  and  insist  that 
Harold  should  be  punished.  But  when  she  heard  that 
Dick  St.  Claire  had  assisted  in  the  fray,  taking  Harold's 
part,  and  himself  dealing  Tom  the  blow  which  blackened 
his  eye,  she  changed  her  tactics,  for  she  did  not  care  to 
quarrel  with  Mrs.  St.  Claire,  of  Grassy  Spring. 

Harold  and  Richard  St.  Claire,  or  Dick,  as  he  was 
familiarly  called,  were  great  friends,  and  if  the  latter 
kneAv  there  was  a  difference  between  himself  and  the  child 
of  poverty  he  never  manifested  it,  and  played  far  oftener 
with  Harold  than  with  Tom,  whose  domineering  disposi- 
tion and  rough  manners  were  distasteful  to  him.  That 
Harold  would  one  day  be  obliged  to  earn  his  living,  Mrs. 
Crawford  knew,  but  he  was  still  too  young  for  anything 
of  that  kind  ;  and  when  Grace  Atherton,  or  Mrs.  St.  Claire 
offered  him  money  for  the  errands  he  sometimes  did  for 
them,  she  always  refused  to  let  him  take  it.  Had  she 
known  of  Mrs.  Tracy's  proposition  that  he  should  be  pres- 
ent at  the  party  as  hall-boy,  she  would  have  declined,  for 
though  she  could  go  there  herself  as  an  employee,  she 
sbrank  from  suffering  Harold  to  do  so.  That  Mrs.  Tracy 
was  not  a  lady,  she  knew,  and  in  her  heart  there  was  a 
feeling  of  superiority  to  the  woman  even  while  she  served 
her,  and  she  was  not  as  sorry,  perhaps,  as  she  ought  to 
have  been,  for  the  attack  of  rheumatism  which  would  pre- 
vent her  from  going  to  the  park  to  take  charge  of  the 
kitchen  during  the  evening. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  her,  but  I  am  glad  not  to  be 
there,"  she  was  thinking  to  herself,  as  she  sat  in  her  bright, 
cheerful  kitchen,  waiting  for  Harold,  when  he  burst  in 
upon  her,  exclaiming  : 

"Oh,  grandma,  only  think!  I  am  invited  to  the 
party,  and  I  told  her  I'd  go,  and  I  am  to  be  there  at  half- 
past  seven  sharp,  and  to  wear  my  meetin'  clothes." 

"Invited  to  the  party!  What  do  you  mean?  Only 
grown  up  people  are  to  be  there,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said. 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;"  Harold  replied,  "  but  I'm  not  to  be 
with  the  grown-ups.  I'm  to  stay  in  the  upper  hall  and 
tell  'em.  where  to  go." 


42  THE    COTTAGE 

"Oh,  you  are  to  bo  a  tcaiicr,"  was  Mrs.  Crawford's 
rather  contemptuous  remark,  which  Harold  did  not  heed 
in  his  excitement. 

"  Yes,  I'm  to  be  at  the  head  of  tho  stairs,  and  some- 
body else  at  the  bottom  ;  and  they  are  to  have  fiddlin'  and 
dancin' ;  I've  never  seen  anybody  dance  ;  and  ice-cream 
and  cake,  with  something  like  plaster  all  over  it,  and 
oranges  and  cake,  and,  oh,  everything!  Dick  St.  Claire 
told  me  ;  he  knows  ;  his  mother  has  had  parties,  and  she's 
going  to-night,  and  her  gown  is  crimson  velvet,  with  black 
and  white  fur  on  it  like  our  cat,  only  they  don't  call  it 
that  ;  and — oh,  I  forgot — they  have  had  a  telegraph,  and 
I  took  it  to  Mrs.  Tracy,  who  almost  cried  when  she  read 
it.  Mr.  Arthur  Tracy  is  coming  home  to-night." 

Harold  had  talked  so  fast  that  his  grandmother  could 
hardly  follow  him,  but  she  understood  what  he  said  last, 
and  started  as  if  he  had  struck  her  a  blow. 

"Arthur  Tracy!  Coming  home  to-night!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad." 

"  But  Mrs.  Tracy  did  not  seem  to  be,  and  I  guess  she 
wanted  to  stop  the  party/'  Harold  said,  repeating  as 
nearly  as  he  could  what  had  passed  between  him  and  the 
lady. 

Harold  \vas  full  of  the  party  to  which  he  believed  he 
had  been  invited,  and  when  in  the  afternoon  Dick  St. 
Claire  came  to  the  cottage  to  play  with  him,  he  felt  a  kind 
of  patronizing  pity  for  his  friend  who  was  not  to  share  his 
honor. 

"  Perhaps  mother  will  let  me  come  over  and  help  you," 
Dick  said.  "I  know  how  they  do  it.  You  mustn't  talk 
to  the  people  as  they  come  up  the  stairs,  nor  even  say 
good -even  ing, — only  : 

"  '  Ladies  will  please  walk  this  way,  and  gentlemen 
that!" 

And  Dick  went  through  with  a  pantomime  perform- 
ance for  the  benefit  of  Harold,  who,  when  the  drill  was 
over,  felt  himself  competent  to  receive  the  queen's  guests 
at  the  head  of  the  great  staircase  in  Windsor  Castle. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  said,  "'Ladies  this  way,  and 
gentleman  that ; '  but  when  am  I  to  go  down  and  see  the 
dancing  and  get  some  ice-cream?" 

On  this  point  Dick  was  doubtful.     He  did  not  believe, 


IN    THE    LANE.  43 

he  said,  that  waiters  ever  went  down  to  see  the  dancing,  or 
to  get  ice-cream,  until  the  party  was  over,  and  then  they 
ate  it  in  the  kitchen,  if  there  was  any  left. 

This  wss  not  a  cheerful  outlook  for  Harold,  whose 
thoughts  were  more  intent  upon  cream  and  dancing  than 
upon  showing  the  people  where  to  go,  and  it  was  also  the 
second  time  the  word  waiter  had  been  used  in  connection 
witli  what  he  was  expected  to  do.  But  Harold  was  too 
young  to  understand  that  he  was  not  cf  the  party  itself. 
L;iter  on  it  would  come  to  him  fast  enough,  that  he  was 
only  a  part  of  the  machinery  which  moved  the  social 
engine.  Now,  he  felt  like  the  engine  itself,  and  long 
before  six  o'clock  he  was  dressed,  and  waiting  anxiously 
for  his  grandmother's  permission  to  start." 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  he  said  to  her.  "  What 
they  do,  and  what  they  say,  and  what  they  wear,  and  if  I 
can,  I'll  speak  to  Mr.  Arthur  Tracy  and  thank  him  for 
mother's  grave  stone." 

By  seven  o'clock  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  park,  walk- 
ing rapidly,  and  occasionally  saying  aloud  with  a  gesture 
of  his  hand  to  the  right  and  the  left,  and  a  bow  almost 
to  the  ground  : 

"  Ladies,  this  way,"  and  "gentlemen  that." 

When  he  reached  the  house  the  gas-jets  had  just  been 
turned  up,  and  every  window  was  ablaze  with  light  from 
the  attic  to  the  basement. 

"My  eye  !  ain't  it  swell  !"  Harold  said  to  himself,  as  he 
stood  a  moment,  looking  at  the  brilliantly  lighted  rooms. 
"  Don't  I  wish  I  was  rich  and  could  burn  all  that  gas,  and 
maybe  I  shall  be.  Grandma  says  Mr.  Arthur  Tracy  was 
once  a  poor  boy  like  me  ;  only  he  had  an  uncle,  and  I 
haven't.  I've  got  to  earn  my  money,  and  I  mean  to,  and 
sometime,  maybe,  I'll  have  a  house  as  big  as  this,  and  just 
such  a  party,  with  a  boy  upstairs  to  tell  'em  where  to  go. 
I  wonder  now  if  I'm  expected  to  go  into  the  kitchen  door. 
Of  course  not.  I've  got  on  my  Sunday  clothes,  and  am 
invited  to  the  party.  I  shall  ring." 

And  he  did  ring — a  sharp,  loud  ring,  which  made  Mrs. 
Tracy,  who  had  not  yet  left  her  room,  start  nervously  as 
she  wondered  who  had  come  so  early. 

"  Old  Peterkin,  of  course.  Those  whom  you  care  for 
least  always  come  first." 


44  THE    COTTAGE 

Peering  over  the  banister  Tom  Tracy  saw  Harold  when 
the  door  was  opened,  and  screaming  to  his  mother  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  "  It  ain't  old  Petcrkin,  mother;  it's  Hal 
Hastings,  come  to  the  front  door,"  he  ran  down  the  stairs, 
and  confronting  the  intruder  just  as  he  was  crossing  the 
threshold,  exclaimed  : 

"  Go  'long.  You  hain't  no  business  ringin'  the  bell  as 
if  you  was  a  guest.  Go  to  the  kitchen  door  with  the  other 
servants  !" 

With  a  thrust  of  the  hand  he  pushed  Harold  back,  and 
was  about  to  shut  the  door  upon  him,  when,  with  a  quick, 
dextrous  movement,  Harold  darted  past  him  into  the  hall, 
saying,  as  he  did  so  : 

"  Darn  you,  Tom  Tracy,  I  won't  go  to  the  kitchen  door, 
and  I'm  not  a  servant,  and  if  you  call  me  so  again  I'll  lick 
you  !" 

How  the  matter  would  have  ended  is  doubtful,  if  Mrs. 
Tracy  had  not  called  from  the  head  of  the  stairs  : 

"  Thomas  !  Thomas  Tracy  !  I  am  ashamed  of  you  ! 
Come  to  me  this  minute  !  And  you,  boy,  go  to  the 
kitchen  ;  or,  no — now  you  are  here,  come  upstairs,  and  I'll 
tell  you  what  you  are  to  do." 

Her  directions  were  very  much  like  those  of  Dick  St. 
Claire,  except  that  she  laid  more  stress  upon  the  fact  that 
he  was  not  to  speak  to  any  one  familiarly,  but  was  to  be  in 
all  respects  a  machine.  Just  what  she  meant  by  that  Har- 
old did  not  know  ;  but  he  hung  his  cap  on  a  bracket,  and 
taking  his  place  where  she  told  him  to  stand,  watched  her 
admiringly  as  she  went  down  the  staircase,  followed  by  her 
husband,  who  looked  anxious  and  ill  at  ease. 

Tom  had  disappeared,  but  his  younger  brother,  Jack, 
who  was  wholly  unlike  him,  came  to  Harold's  side,  and 
began  telling  him  what  quantities  of  good  things  there 
were  in  the  dining-room  and  pantry,  and  that  his  Uncle 
Arthur  was  coming  home  that  night,  and  his  mother  was 
so  glad  she  cried  ;  then,  with  a  spring  he  mounted  upon 
the  banister  of  the  long  staircase,  and  slipped  swiftly  to 
the  bottom.  Ascending  the  stairs  almost  as  quickly  as  he 
had  gone  down,  he  bade  Harold  try  it  with  him. 

"  It's  such  fun  !  and  mother  won't  care.  I've  done  it 
forty  times,"  he  said,  as  Harold  demurred  ;  and  then,  as 
the  temptation  became  too  strong  to  be  resisted,  two  boys 


THE  PARTY.  45 

instead  of  one  rode  down  the  banister,  and  landed  in  the 
lower  hall,  and  two  pairs  of  little  legs  ran  nimbly  up  the 
stairs  just  as  the  door  opened  and  admitted  the  first 
arrival. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   PAKTY. 

THE  invitations  had  been  for  half-past  seven,  and  pre- 
cisely at  that  hour  Peterkin  arrived,  magnificent  in 
his  swallow-tail  and  white  shirt  front,  where  an  enormous 
diamond  shone  conspicuously.  With  him  came  Mrs. 
Peterkin,  whose  name  was  Mary  Jane,  but  whom  her  hus- 
band always  called  May  Jane.  She  was  a  frail,  pale-faced 
little  woman,  who  had  once  been  Grace  Atherton's  maid, 
and  had  married  Peterkin  for  his  money.  This  was  her 
first  appearance  at  a  grand  party,  and  in  her  excitement 
and  timidity  she  did  not  hear  Harold's  thrice  repeated 
words,  "  Ladies  go  that  way,"  but  followed  her  husband 
into  the  gentlemen's  dressing-room,  where  she  deposited 
her  wraps,  and  then,  shaking  in  every  limb,  descended  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  Peterkin's  loud  voice  was  soon 
heard,  as  he  slapped  his  host  on  the  shoulder,  and  said  : 

"  You  see,  we  are  here  on  time,  though  May  Jane  said 
it  was  too  early.  But  I  s'posed  half-past  seven  meant  half- 
past  seven,  and  then  I  wanted  a  little  time  to  talk  up  the 
ropes  with  you.  We  are  going  to  run  you  in,  you  bet  I" 
and  again  his  coarse  laugh  thrilled  every  nerve  in  Mrs. 
Tracy's  body,  and  she  longed  for  fresh  arrivals  to  help 
quiet  this  vulgar  man. 

Soon  they  began  to  come  by  twos,  and  threes,  and 
sixes,  and  Harold  was  kept  busy  with  his  "Ladies  this 
way,  and  gentlemen  that." 

After  Mrs.  Peterkin  had  gone  down  stairs,  leaving  her 
wraps  in  the  gentlemen's  room,  Harold,  who  knew  they 
did  not  belong  there,  had  carried  them  to  the  ladies' 
room  and  deposited  them  upon  the  bed,  just  as  the  girl 
who  was  to  be  in  attendance  appeared  at  her  post,  asking 


46  THE  PARTY. 

him  sharply-  why  he  was  in  there  rummaging  the  ladies' 
things. 

"I'm  not  rummaging.  They  are  Mrs.  Peterkin's. 
She  left  them  in  the  other  room,  and  I  brought  them 
here,"  Harold  said,  as  he  returned  to  the  hall,  eager  and 
excited,  and  interested  in  watching  the  people  as  they 
came  up  the  stairs  and  went  down  again.  With  the  quick 
instinct  of  a  bright,  intelligent  boy,  he  decided  who  was 
accustomed  to  society  and  who  was  not,  and  leaning  over 
the  banister,  when  not  on  duty,  watched  them  as  they 
entered  the  drawing-room  and  were  received  by  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Tracy.  Unconsciously,  he  began  to  imitate  them, 
bowing  when  they  bowed,  and  saying  softly  to  himself  : 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do  ?  Good-evening.  Happy  to  see 
you.  Pleasant,  to-night.  Walk  in.  Ye-as  !" 

This  was  the  monosyllable  with  which  he  finished 
every  sentence,  and  was  the  affirmation  to  the  thought  in 
his  mind  that  he,  too,  would  some  day  go  down  those 
stairs  and  into  those  parlors  as  a  guest,  while  some  other 
boy  in  the  upper  hall  bade  the  ladies  go  this  way  and  the 
gentlemen  that. 

It  was  after  nine  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  St.  Claire  arrived, 
with  Squire  Harrington,  from  Collingwood.  Harold  had 
been  looking  for  them,  anxious  to  see  the  crimson  satin 
trimmed  with  ermine  of  which  Dick  had  told  him.  Many 
of  the  guests  he  had  mentally  criticised  unsparingly,  but 
Mrs.  St.  Clair,  he  knew,  was  genuine,  and  his  face  beamed 
when  in  passing  him  she  smiled  upon  him  with  her  sweet, 
gracious  manner,  and  said,  pleasantly  : 

"  Good-evening,  Harold.  I  knew  you  were  to  be  here. 
Dick  told  me,  and  he  wanted  to  come  and  help  you,  but  I 
thought  he'd  better  stay  home  with  Nina." 

Up  to  this  time  no  one  had  spoken  to  Harold,  and  he 
had  spoken  to  no  one  except  to  tell  them  where  to  go,  but 
had,  as  far  as  possible,  followed  Mrs.  Tracy's  injunction  to 
be  a  machine.  But  the  machine  was  getting  a  little  tired. 
It  was  hard  work  to  stand  for  two  hours  or  more,  and 
Mrs.  Tracy  had  impressed  it  upon  him  that  he  was  not  to 
sit  down.  But  when  Mrs.  St.  Claire  came  from  the  dress- 
ing-room and  siood  before  him  a  moment,  he  forgot  his 
weariness,  and  forgot  that  he  was  not  to  talk,  and  said  to 
her,  involuntarily  : 


THE  PARTY.  47 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  St.  Claire,  how  handsome  you  look  ! 
Handsomer  than  anybody  yet,  and  different,  too,  some- 
how. " 

Edith  knew  the  compliment  was  genuine,  and  she 
replied  : 

*•'  Thank  you,  Harold  ;"  then,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
head  and  parting  his  soft,  brown  hair,  she  said,  as  she 
noticed  a  look  of  fatigue  in  his  eyes,  "  Are  you  not  tired, 
standing  so  long  ?  Why  don't  you  bring  a  chair  from  one 
of  the  rooms  and  sit  when  you  can  ?" 

"She  told  me  to  stand,"  Harold  replied,  nodding 
toward  the  parlors,  from  which  a  strain  of  music  just  then 
issued. 

The  dancing  had  commenced,  and  Harold's  feet  and 
hands  beat  time  to  the  lively  strains  of  the  piano  and 
violin,  until  he  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  The 
dancing  he  must  see  at  all  hazards,  and  know  what  it  was 
like,  and  when  the  last  guests  came  up  the  stairs,  there 
was  no  hall  boy  there  to  tell  them,  "  Ladies  this  way  and 
gentlemen  that,"  for  Harold  was  in  the  thickest  of  the 
crowd,  standing  on  a  chair  so  as  to  look  over  the  heads  of 
those  in  front  of  him,  and  see  the  dancers.  But,  alas  for 
poor  Harold  !  He  was  soon  discovered  by  Mrs.  Tracy, 
who,  asking  him  if  he  did  not  know  his  place  better  than 
that,  ordered  him  back  to  his  post,  where  he  was  told  to 
stay  until  the  party  was  over. 

Wholly  unconscious  of  the  nature  of  his  offense,  but 
very  sorry  that  he  had  offended,  Harold  went  up  the  stairs, 
wondering  why  he  could  not  see  the  dancing,  and  how 
long  the  party  would  last.  His  head  was  beginning  to 
ache  with  the  glare  and  gas  ;  his  little  legs  were  tired,  and 
he  was  growing  sleepy.  Surely  he  might  sit  down  now, 
particularly  as  Mrs.  St.  Claire  had  suggested  it,  and  bring- 
ing a  chair  from  one  of  the  rooms  he  sat  down  in  a  corner 
of  the  hall,  and  was  soon  in  a  sound  sleep,  from  which 
h,'  \\us  roused  by  the  sound  of  Mr.  Tracy's  voice,  as  he 
came  up  the  stairs,  followed  by  a  tall,  distinguished-look- 
ing man,  who  wore  a  Spanish  cloak  wrapped  gracefully 
around  him,  and  a  large,  broad-brimmed  hat  drawn  down 
so  closely  as  to  hide  his  features  from  view. 

As  he  reached  the  upper  landing  he  raised  his  head, 
and  Harold,  who  was  now  wide  awake  and  standing  up, 


48  ARTHUR. 

caught  a  glimpse  of  a  thin,  pale  face,  and  a  pair  of  keen, 
black  eyes,  which  seemed  for  an  instant  to  take  everything 
in  ;  then  the  head  was  dropped,  and  the  two  men  disap- 
peared in  a  room  at  the  far  end  of  the  hall. 

"I'll  bet  that's  Mr.  Arthur.  How  grand  he  is  !  looks 
just  like  a  pirate  in  that  cloak  and  hat,"  was  Harold's  men- 
tal comment. 

Before  he  had  time  for  further  thought,  Frank  Tracy 
came  from  the  room,  and  hurried  down  the  stairs  to  rejoin 
his  guests. 

Five  minutes  later  and  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  long 
hall  which  communicated  with  the  back  staircase  and  the 
rear  of  the  house,  opened,  and  a  man  whom  Harold  recog- 
nized as  the  expressman  from  the  station  appeared  with  a 
huge  trunk  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  large  valise  in  his  hand. 
These  he  deposited  in  the  stranger's  room,  and  then  went 
back  for  more,  until  four  had  been  carried  in.  But  when 
he  came  with  the  fifth  and  largest  of  all,  a  hand,  white 
and  delicate  as  a  woman's,  was  thrust  from  the  door-way 
with  an  imperative  gesture,  and  a  voice  with  a  decided  for- 
eign accent  exclaimed  : 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  bring  any  more  boxes  in 
here.  Why,  I  am  positively  stumbling  over  them  now. 
Surely  there  must  be  some  place  in  the  house  for  my  lug- 
gage, besides  my  private  apartment." 

Then  the  door  was  shut  with  a  bang,  and  Harold  heard 
the  sliding  of  the  bolt  as  Arthur  Tracy  fastened  himself 
into  his  room. 


CHAPTEE    VIII. 

AETHUE. 

ALL  the  time  that  Frank  Tracy  had  been  receiving  his 
guests  and  trying  to  seem  happy  and  at  his  ease,  his 
thoughts  had  been  dwelling  upon  his  brother's  telegram 
and  the  ominous  words,  "  Send  some  one  to  meet  us." 
How  slowly  the  minutes  dragged  until  it  was  ten  o'clock, 
and  he  knew  that  John  had  started  for  the  station  to  meet 


ARTHUR.  49 

the  dreaded  " us"  He  had  told  everybody  that  he  was 
expecting  his  brother,  and  had  tried  to  seem  glad  on 
account  of  it. 

"  You  and  he  were  great  friends,  I  believe/'  he  said  to 
Squire  Harrington. 

"  Yes,  we  were  friends/'  the  latter  replied  ;  but  when 
he  lived  here  my  health  was  such  that  I  did  not  mingle 
much  in  society.  I  met  him,  however,  in  Paris  five  years 
ago,  and  found  him  very  companionable  and  quite  Euro- 
peanized  in  his  manner  and  tastes.  He  spoke  French  or 
German  altogether,  and  might  easily  have  passed  for  a  for- 
eigner. I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him." 

"  And  so  shall  1,"  chimed  in  Peterkin,  whose  voice  was 
like  a  trumpet  and  could  be  heard  everywhere.  "A  fust- 
rate  chap,  though  we  didn't  used  to  hitch  very  well  together. 
He  was  all-fired  big-feelin',  and  them  days  Peterkin  was 
nowhere  ;  but  circumstances  alter  cases.  He'll  be  glad 
to  see  me  now,  no  doubt ;"  and  with  a  most  satisfied  air 
the  millionaire  put  his  hand,  as  if  by  accident,  on  his 
immense  diamond  pin,  and  pulling  down  his  swallow-tail, 
walked  away. 

Frank  saw  the  faint  smile  of  contempt  which  showed 
itself  in  Squire  Harrington's  face,  and  his  own  grew  red 
with  shame,  but  paled  almost  instantly  as  the  outer  door 
was  opened  by  some  one  who  did  not  seem  to  think  it  nec- 
essary to  ring  ;  and  a  stranger,  in  Spanish  cloak  and  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  stepped  into  the  hall. 

Arthur  had  come,  and  was  alone.  The  train  had  been 
on  time,  and  at  just  half-past  ten  the  long  line  of  cars 
stopped  before  the  Shannondale  station,  where  John,  the 
coachman  from  Tracy  Park,  was  waiting.  The  night  was 
dark,  but  by  the  light  from  the  engine  and  the  office  John 
saw  the  foreign-looking  stranger,  who  sprang  upon  the 
platform,  and  felt  sure  it  was  his  man.  But  there  was  no 
one  witli  him,  though  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  expecting 
some  one  to  follow  him  from  the  car,  for  he  stood  for  a 
moment  waiting.  Then,  as  the  train  moved  on,  he  turned 
with  a  puzzled  look  upon  his  face  to  meet  John,  who  said 
to  him  respectfully  : 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Arthur  Tracy  ?" 

"Yes  ;  who  ure  you  !"''  was  the  response. 

"  Mr.  Frank  Tracy  sent  me  from  the  park  to  fetch 
3 


SO  AHTBUS 

m 

you/'  John  replied.  "  I  think  he  expected  some  one  with 
you.  Are  you  alone  ?" 

"  Yes — no,  no  I"  and  Arthur's  voice  indicated  growing 
alarm  and  uneasiness  as  he  looked  around  him.  "  Where 
is  she  ?  Didn't  you  see  her  ?  She  was  with  me  all  the 
way.  Surely  she  got  off  when  I  did.  Where  can  she  have 
gone  ?" 

He  was  greatly  excited,  and  kept  peering  through  the 
darkness  as  he  talked  ;  while  John,  a  good  deal  puzzled, 
looked  curiously  at  him,  as  if  uncertain  whether  he  were  in 
his  right  mind  or  not. 

"  Was  there  some  one  with  you  in  the  car  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,  in  the  car,  and  in  New  York,  and  on  the  ship. 
She  was  with  me  all  the  way,"  Mr.  Tracy  replied.  "  It  is 
strange  where  she  is  now.  Did  no  one  alight  from  the 
train  when  I  did  ?" 

"  No  one/'  John  answered,  more  puzzled  than  ever. 
"  I  was  looking  for  you,  and  there  was  no  one  else.  She 
may  have  fallen  asleep  and  been  carried  by." 

"  Yes,  probably  that  is  it,"  Mr.  Tracy  said,  more 
cheerfully  ;  "  she  was  asleep  and  carried  by.  She  will  come 
back  to-morrow." 

He  seemed  quite  content  with  this  solution  of  the  mys- 
tery, and  began  to  talk  of  his  luggage,  which  lay  upon  the 
platform — a  pile  so  immense  that  John  looked  at  it  in 
alarm,  knowing  that  the  carriage  could  never  take  it 
all. 

"Eight  trunks,  two  portmanteaus,  and  a  hat-box  !"  he 
said,  aloud,  counting  the  pieces. 

"  Yes,  and  a  nice  sum  those  rascally  agents  in  New 
York  made  me  pay  for  haying  them  come  with  me/' 
Arthur  rejoined.  "  They  weighed  them  all,  and  charged 
me  a  little  fortune.  I  might  as  well  have  sent  them  by 
express ;  but  I  wanted  them  with  me,  and  here  they  are. 
What  will  you  do  with  them  ?  This  is  hers,"  and  he  des- 
ignated a  black  trunk  or  box,  longer  and  larger  than  two 
ordinary  trunks  ought  to  be. 

"  I  can  take  one  of  them  with  the  box  and  portman- 
teau, and  the  expressman  will  take  the  rest.  He  is  here. 
Hullo,  Brown  !"  John  said,  calling  to  a  man  in  the  distance, 
who  came  forward,  and,  on  learning  what  was  wanted, 


w 

began  piling  the  trunks  into  his  wagon,  while  Arthur  fol- 
lowed John  to  the  carriage,  which  he  entered,  and  sinking 
into  a  seat,  pulled  his  broad-brimmed  hat  over  his  face  and 
eyes,  and  sat  as  motionless  as  if  he  had  been  a  stone. 

For  a  moment  John  stood  looking  at  him,  wondering 
what  manner  of  man  he  was,  and  thinking  of  the  woman 
who,  he  said,  had  been  with  him  in  the  train.  At  last, 
remembering  a  message  his  master  had  given  him,  he 
began  : 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  Mr.  Tracy  told  me  to  tell  you  he 
was  very  sorry  that  he  could  not  come  himself  to  meet  you. 
If  he  had  known  that  you  were  coming  sooner,  he  would 
have  done  different ;  but  he  did  not  get  your  telegram  till 
this  morning,  and  then  it  was  too  late  to  stop  it.  We  are 
having  a  great  break-down  to-night." 

During  the  first  of  these  remarks  Arthur  had  given  no 
sign  that  he  heard,  but  when  John  spoke  of  a  break-down, 
he  lifted  his  head  quickly,  and  the  great  black  eyes 
flashed  a  looked  of  inquiry  upon  John,  as  he  said  : 

"  Break-down  ?     What's  that  ?" 

"A  party — a  smasher  !  Mr.  Tracy  is  running  for  Con- 
gress," was  John's  reply. 

And  then  over  the  thin  face  there  crept  a  ghost  of  a 
smile,  which,  faint  as  it  was,  changed  the  expression  won- 
derfully. 

"Oh,  a  party  I"  he  said.  "Well,  I  will  be  a  guest, 
too.  I  have  my  dressing-suit  in  some  of  those  trunks. 
Frank  is  going  to  Congress,  is  he  ?  That's  a  good  joke  ! 
Drive  on.  What  are  you  standing  there  for  ?" 

The  carriage  door  was  shut,  and,  mounting  the  box, 
John  drove  as  rapidly  toward  Tracy  Park  as  the  darkness 
of  the  night  would  admit,  while  the  passenger  inside  sat 
with  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  his  chin  almost  touching 
his  breast,  as  if  absorbed  in  thought.  Once  he  spoke  to 
himself,  and  said  : 

"  Poor  little  Gretchen  !  I  wonder  how  I  could  have 
forgotten  and  left  her  in  the  train.  What  will  she  do 
alone  in  a  strange  place  ?  But  perhaps  Heaven  will  take 
care  of  her.  She  always  said  so.  I  wish  I  had  her  faith 
and  could  believe  as  she  does." 

They  had  turned  into  the  park  by  this  time,  and  very 
soon  drew  up  before  the  house,  from  every  window  of  which 


82  A&TBVtt. 

lights  were  flashing,  while  the  sound  of  music  and  danc- 
ing could  be  distinctly  heard. 

"  I  need  not  ring  at  my  own  house/'  Arthur  thought, 
as  he  ran  up  the  steps,  and,  opening  the  door,  stepped 
into  the  hall  ;  and  thus  it  was  that  the  first  intimation 
which  Frank  had  of  his  arrival  was  when  he  saw  him 
standing  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  people,  who  were  gaz- 
ing curiously  at  him. 

"Arthur  !"  he  exclaimed,  rushing  forward  and  taking 
his  brother's  hand.  "  Welcome  home  again  !  I  did  not 
hear  the  carriage,  though  I  was  listening  for  it.  I  arn  so 
glad  to  see  you  !  Gome  with  me  to  your  room  ;"  and  he 
led  the  way  up  stairs  to  the  apartment  prepared  for  the 
stranger. 

He  had  seen  at  a  glance  that  Arthur  was  alone,  unless, 
indeed,  he  had  brought  a  servant  who  had  gone  to  the  side 
door ;  and  thus  relieved  from  a  load  of  anxiety,  he  was 
very  cordial  in  his  manner,  and  began  at  once  to  make 
excuses  for  the  party,  repeating,  in  substance,  what  John 
had  already  said. 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  that  fellow  who  drove  me  here  told 
me,"  Arthur  replied,  throwing  off  his  coat  and  hat,  and 
beginning  to  lave  his  face,  and  neck,  and  hands  in  the 
cold  water  which  he  turned  into  the  bowl  until  it  was  full 
to  the  brim,  and  splashed  over  the  sides  as  he  dashed  it 
upon  himself. 

All  this  time  Frank  had  not  seen  his  face  distinctly, 
nor  did  he  have  an  opportunity  to  do  so  until  the  ablutions 
were  ended,  and  Arthur  had  rubbed  himself  with,  not  one 
towel,  but  two,  until  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  have  taken 
off  the  skin  in  places.  Then  he  turned,  and  running  his 
fingers  through  his  luxuriant  hair,  which  had  a  habit  of 
curling  around  his  forehead  as  in  his  boyhood,  looked  full 
at  his  brother,  who  saw  that  he  was  rery  pale,  and  that  his 
eyes  were  unnaturally  large  and  bright,  while  there  was 
about  him  an  indescribable  something  which  puzzled 
Frank  a  little.  It  was  not  altogether  the  air  of  foreign 
travel  and  cultivation  which  was  so  perceptible,  but  a  some- 
thing else — a  restlessness  and  nervousness  of  speech  and 
manner  as  he  moved  about  the  room,  walking  rapidly  and 
gesticulating  as  he  walked. 


ARTHUR.  53 

"  You  are  looking  tkiii  and  tired.  Are  you  not  well  ?" 
Frank  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  perfectly  well/'  Arthur  replied  ;  "only  this 
infernal  heat  in  my  blood,  which  keeps  me  up  to  fever 
pitch  all  the  time.  I  shall  have  to  bathe  my  face  again  ;" 
and,  going  a  second  time  to  the  bowl,  ho  began  to  throw 
the  water  over  his  face  and  hands  as  he  had  done  before. 

"I'd  like  a  bath  in  ice-water,"  he  said,  as  he  began 
drying  himself  with  a  fresh  towel.  "  If  I  remember  right, 
there  is  no  bath-room  on  this  floor,  but  I  can  soon  have 
one  built.  I  intend  to  throw  down  the  wall  between  this 
room  and  the  next,  and  perhaps  the  next,  so  as  to  have  a 
suite." 

The  second  washing  must  have  cooled  him,  for  there 
came  a  change  in  his  manner,  and  he  moved  more  slowly 
and  spoke  with  greater  deliberation  as  he  asked  some  ques- 
tions about  the  people  below. 

"  Will  you  come  down  by  and  by,"  Frank  said,  after 
having  made  some  explanations  with  regard  to  his  guests. 

"No,  you  will  have  to  excuse  me,"  Authur  replied. 
"lam  too  tired  to  encounter  old  acquaintances  or  make 
new.  I  do  not  believe  I  could  stand  old  Peterkin,  who 
you  say  is  a  millionaire.  I  suppose  you  want  his  influ- 
ence ;  your  coachman  told  me  you  were  running  for  Con- 
grees,"  and  Arthur  laughed  the  old  merry,  musical  laugh 
which  Frank  remembered  so  well ;  then,  suddenly  chang- 
ing his  tone,  he  asked  :  "  When  does  the  text  train  from 
the  East  pass  the  station?" 

Frank  told  him  at  seven  in  the  morning,  and  he  con- 
tinued : 

"  Please  send  the  carriage  to  meet  it.  Gretchen  will 
probably  be  there.  She  was  in  the  train  with  me,  and 
should  have  gotten  out  when  I  did,  but  she  must  have 
been  asleep  and  carried  by." 

"  Gr-gr-gretcheu  !  Who  is  she  ?  Frank  stammered, 
while  the  cold  sweat  began  to  run  down  his  back. 

Instantly  into  Arthur's  eyes  there  came  a  look  of  cun- 
ning, as  he  replied  : 

"  She  is  Gretchen.  See  that  the  carriage  goes  for  her, 
will  you  ?" 

His  voice  and  manner  indicated  that  he  wished  the 
conference  ended,  and  with  a  great  sinking  at  his  heart 


64  ARTHUR. 

Frank  left  the  room  and  returned  to  his  guests  and  his 
wife,  who  had  not  seen  the  stranger  when  he  entered  the 
hall,  and  did  not  know  of  Arthur's  arrival  until  her  hus- 
band rejoined  her. 

"  He  has  come/'  he  whispered  to  her,  while  she  whis- 
pered back  : 

"Is  he  alone?" 

"  Yes,  but  somebody  is  coming  to-morrow  ;  I  do  not 
know  who  ;  Gretchen,  he  calls  her,"  was  Frank's  reply. 

"  Gretchen  I"  Mrs.  Tracy  repeated,  in  a  trembling 
voice.  "Who  is  she  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  He  merely  said  she  was  Gretchen  ;  his 
daughter,  perhaps,*'  was  Frank's  answer,  which  sent  the 
color  from  his  wife's  cheeks,  and  made  her  so  faint  and 
sick  that  she  could  scarcely  stand,  and  did  not  know  at  all 
what  her  guests  were  saying  to  her. 

Meantime,  Arthur  had  changed  his  mind  with  regard 
to  going  down  into  the  parlors,  and,  unlocking  the  trunk 
which  held  his  own  Avardrobe,  he  took  out  an  evening  suit 
fresh  from  the  hands  of  a  London  tailor,  and,  arraying  him- 
self in  it,  stood  for  a  moment  before  the  glass  to  see  the 
effect.  Everything  was  faultless,  from  his  neck-tie  to  his 
boots  ;  and,  opening  the  door,  he  went  into  the  hall,  which 
was  empty,  except  for  Harold,  who  was  sitting  near  tbe 
stairs,  half  asleep  again.  Most  of  the  guests  were  in  the 
supper-room,  but  a  few  of  the  younger  portion  were  danc- 
ing, and  the  strains  of  music  were  heard  with  great  dis- 
tinctness in  the  upper  hall. 

"Ugh!"  Arthur  said,  with  a  shiver,  as  he  stopped  a 
moment  to  listen,  while  his  quick  eye  took  in  every  detail 
of  the  furniture  and  its  arrangement  in  the  hall.  "That 
violinist  ought  to  be  hung — the  pianist,  too  !  Don't  they 
know  what  horrid  discord  they  are  making  ?  It  brings 
that  heat  back.  I  believe,  upon  my  soul,  I  shall  have  to 
bathe  my  face  again." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  went  back  and 
washed  his  face  for  the  third  time ;  then  returning  to  the 
hall,  he  advanced  toward  Harold,  who  was  now  wide  awake 
and  standing  up  to  meet  him.  ^s  Arthur  met  the  clear 
brown  eyes  fixed  so  curiously  upon  him,  he  stopped  sud- 
denly, and  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as  if  trying  to  recall 
something  j  then  going  nearer  to  Harold,  he  said  : 


ARTHUR.  55 

"Well,  my  liltle  boy,  what  are  you  doing  up  here  ?" 

"Telling  the  folks  which  way  to  go,"  was  Harold's 
answer. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  Arthur  continued.  "What  is  your 
name  ?" 

"Harold  Hastings,"  was  the  reply;  and  instantly  there 
came  over  the  white  face,  and  into  the  large,  bright  eyes, 
an  expression  which  made  the  boy  stand  back  as. the  tall 
man  came  up  to  him  and,  laying  a  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
said  excitedly  : 

"Harold  Hastings  !  He  was  once  my  friend,  or  I 
thought  he  was  ;  but  I  hate  him  now.  And  he  was  your 
father,  and  Amy  Crawford  was  your  mother  ?  N'est-ce 
pas  ?  Answer  me  !" 

"  Yes,  sir — yes.  sir  ;  but  I  don't  know  what  you  mean 
by  ' na-se par?"  Harold  said,  in  a  frightened  voice  ;  and 
Arthur  continued,  as  he  tightened  his  grasp  on  his  shoul- 
der : 

"  I  hated  your  father,  and  I  hate  you,  and  I  am  going 
to  throw  you  over  the  stair  railing  !"  and  seizing  Harold's 
coat  collar,  he  swung  him  over  the  banister  as  if  he  had 
been  a  feather,  while  the  boy  struggled  and  fought,  and 
held  on  to  the  rails,  until  help  appeared  in  the  person  of 
Frank  Tracy,  who  came  swiftly  up  the  stairs,  demanding 
the  cause  of  what  he  saw. 

He  had  been  standing  near  the  drawing-room  door, 
and  had  caught  the  sound  of  his  brother's  voice  and  Har- 
old's as  if  in  altercation.  Excusing  himself  from  those 
around  him,  he  hastened  to  the  scene  of  action  in  time  to 
save  Harold  from  a  broken  limb,  if  not  a  broken  neck. 

"What  is  it  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  ?"  he  asked 
the  boy,  who  replied  amid  his  tears  : 

"I  hain't  been  doing  anything,  only  minding  my  busi- 
ness, and  he  came  and  asked  me  who  I  was,  and  when  I 
told  him,  he  was  going  to  chuck  me  over  the  railing — darn 
him  !  I  wish  I  was  big ;  I'd  lick  him  \" 

Harold's  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  the  great  tears  glit- 
tered in  his  eyes,  as  he  stood  up,  brave,  and  defiant,  and 
resentful  of  the  injustice  done  him. 

"Arthur,  are  you  mad?"  Frank  said. 

And  whether  it  was  the  tone  of  his  voice,  or  his  words, 
something  produced  a  wonderful  effect  upon  his  brother, 


56  ARTHUR. 

whose  mood  changed  at  once,  and  who  advanced  towards 
Harold  with  outstretched  hand,  saying" to  him: 

"  Forgive  me,  my  little  man,  I  think  I  must  have  been 
mad  for  the  instant ;  there  is  such  a  heat  in  my  head,  and 
the  crash  of  that  music  almost  drives  me  wild.  Shall  it 
be  peace  between  us,  my  boy?" 

It  was  next  to  impossible  to  resist  the  influence  of 
Arthur  Tracy's  smile,  and  Harold  took  the  offered  hand 
and  said,  between  a  sob  and  a  laugh: 

"  I  don't  know  now  why  you  wanted  to  throw  me  down 
stairs." 

"  Nor  I,  and  I  will  make  it  up  to  you  some  time/'  was 
Arthur's  reply,  as  he  took  his  brother's  arm  and  said: 
"  Now  introduce  me  to  your  guests." 

The  moment  the  gentlemen  disappeared  from  view 
Harold's  resolution  was  taken.  It  was  nearly  midnight 
He  was  very  tired  and  sleepy,  and  his  head  was  aching 
terribly.  He  could  not  see  the  dancing.  He  had  had 
nothing  to  eat ;  he  had  stood  until  his  legs  were  ready  to 
drop  off,  and  to  crown  all  a  lunatic  had  tried  to  throw  him 
over  the  banister. 

"  I  won't  stay  here  another  minute,"  he  said. 

And  leaving  the  hall  by  the  rear  entrance,  and  slipping 
down  a  back  stairway,  he  was  soon  in  the  open  air,  and 
running  swiftly  through  the  park  toward  the  cottage  in 
the  lane. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  brothers  had  descended  to  the 
drawing-room,  where  Arthur  was  soon  surrounded  by  his 
old  acquaintances,  whom  he  greeted  with  that  cordiality 
and  friendliness  of  manner  which  had  made  him  so  popu- 
lar with  those  who  knew  him  best.  Every  trace  of  excite- 
ment had  disappeared,  and  had  he  been  master  of  ceremo- 
nies himself,  he  could  not  have  been  more  gracious  or 
affable.  Even  old  Peterkiu  was  treated  with  a  considera- 
tion which  put  that  worthy  man  at  his  ease,  and  set  his 
tongue  in  motion.  At  first  he  had  felt  a  little  overawed 
by  Arthur's  elegant  appearance,  and  had  whispered  to  his 
neighbor : 

"That's  a  swell,  and  no  mistake.  I  s'pose  that's  what 
you  call  foreign  get  up.  Well,  me  and  ma  is  goin'  to 
Europe  some  time,  and  hang  me  if  I  don't  put  on  style 
when  I  come  home.  I'd  kind  of  like  to  speak  to  the  feller. 


ARTHUR.  57 

I  wonder  if  he  remembers  that  I  was  runnin'  a  boat  when 
he  went  away  ?" 

If  Arthur  did  remember  it  he  showed  no  sign  when 
Peterkin  at  last  pressed  up  to  him,  claiming  his  attention, 
as  "  Captain  Peterkin,  of  the  'Liza  Ann,  the  fastest  boat 
ou  the  canal,  and  by  George,  the  all-firedest  meanest,  too, 
I  guess/'  he  said;  "but  them  days  is  past,  and  the  old 
captain  is  past  with  them.  I  dabbled  a  little  in  ile,  and  if 
I  do  say  it,  I  could  about  buy  up  the  whole  canal,  if  I 
wanted  to  ;  but  I  ain't  an  atom  proud,  and  I  don't  forget 
the  old  boatin'  days,  and  I've  got  the  'Liza  Ann  hauled  up 
inter  my  back  yard  as  a  relict.  The  children  use  it  for  a 
play-house,  but  to  me  it  is  a — a — what  do  you  call  it  ?  a — 
gol  darn  it,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Souvenir,"  suggested  Arthur,  vastly  amused  at  this 
tirade,  which  had  assumed  the  form  of  a  speech,  and 
drawn  a  crowd  around  Peterkin. 

"Wall,  yes;  I  s'pose  that's  it,  though  'tain't  exactly 
what  I  was  trying  to  think  of,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  reminder, 
and  keeps  down  my  pride,  for  when  I  get  to  feelin'  pretty 
big,  after  hearin'  myself  pointed  out  as  Peterkin,  the  mill- 
ionaire, I  go  out  to  that  old  boat  in  the  back  yard,  and 
says  I,  '  Liza  Ann/  says  I,  '  you  and  me  has  took  many  a 
trip  up  and  down  the  canal,  with  about  the  wust  crew, 
and  the  wust  bosses,  and  the  wust  boys  that  was  ever 
created,  and  though  you've  got  a  new  coat  of  paint  onto 
you,  and  can  set  still  all  day  and  do  nothin',  while  I  can 
wear  the  finest  of  broadcloth  and  set  still,  too,  it  won't  do 
for  us  to  forget  the  pit  from  which  we  was  dug,  and  I 
don't  forget  it  neither,  no  more  than  I  forgit  favors  shown 
when  I  was  not  just  cut/  You,  sir,  rode  on  the  'Liza 
Ann  with  that  crony  of  yours — Hastings  was  his  name — 
and  you  paid  me  han'some,  though  I  didn't  ask  nothin' ; 
and  there's  your  brother — Frank,  I  call  him.  I  don't  for- 
git that  he  used  to  speak  to  me  civil  when  I  was  nobody, 
and  now,  though  I'm  a  Dimocrat,  as  everybody  who  knows 
me  knows,  and  everybody  most  does  know  me,  for  Shan- 
nondale  all  us  was  my  native  town,  I'm  goin'  to  run  him 
into  Congress,  if  it  takes  my  bottom  dollar,  and  anybody, 
Republican  or  Dimocrat,  who  don't  vote  for  him  ain't  my 
friend,  and  must  expect  to  feel  the  full  heft  of  my — my — " 
8* 


58  AETHTTR. 

"  Powerful  disapprobation/'  Arthur  said,  softly,  and 
Peterkin  continued  : 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  that's  the  word — powerful,  sir,  pow- 
erful," and  he  glowered  threatingly  at  two  or  three  young 
men  in  white  kids  and  high  shirt  collars,  who  were  known 
to  prefer  the  opposing  candidate. 

Peterkin  had  finished  his  harangue,  and  was  wiping  his 
wet  face  with  his  hankerchief,  when  Arthur,  who  had  lis- 
tened to  him  with  well-bred  attention,  said  : 

"  I  thank  you,  Captain  Peterkin,  for  your  interest  in 
my  brother,  who,  if  he  succeeds,  will  I  am  sure,  owe  his 
success  to  your  influence,  and  be  grateful  in  proportion. 
Perhaps  you  have  a  bill  you  would  like  him  to  bring  before 
the  house  ?" 

"  No,"  Peterkin  said,  with  a  shake  of  the  head.  "  My 
Bill  is  a  little  shaver,  eight  or  nine  years  old ;  too  young  to 
go  from  home,  but" — and  he  lowered  his  voice  a  little — "  I 
don't  mind  saying  that  if  there  should  be  a  chance,  Pd  like 
the  post-office  fust  rate.  It  would  be  a  kind  of  hist,  you 
know,  to  see  my  name  in  print,  Captian  Joseph  Peterkiu, 
P.  M." 

Here  the  conversation  ended,  and  this  aspirant  for  the 
post-office  stepped  aside  and  gave  place  to  others  who  were 
anxious  to  renew  their  acquaintance  with  Arthur. 

It  was  between  one  and  two  o'clock  in  the  morning 
when  the  party  finally  broke  up,  and,  as  the  Peterkins  had 
been  the  first  to  arrive,  so  they  were  the  last  to  leave,  and 
Mrs.  Peterkin  found  herself  again  in  the  gentlemen's  dress- 
ing-room looking  for  her  wraps.  But  they  were  not  there, 
and  after  a  vain  and  anxious  search  she  said  to  her  hus- 
band : 

"Joe,  somebody  has  stole  my  things,  and  'twas  my 
Indian  shawl,  too,  and  gold-headed  pin,  with  the  little 
diamond." 

Mrs.  Tracy  was  at  once  summoned  to  the  scene,  and  the 
missing  wraps  were  found  in  the  ladies-room,  where  Har- 
old had  carried  them,  but  the  gold-headed  shawl-pin  was 
gone  and  could  not  be  found. 

Lucy,  the  girl  in  attendance,  said,  when  questioned, 
that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  pin  or  Mrs.  Peterkhrs  wraps 
either,  except  that  on  first  going  up  after  the  lady's  arrival 
she  had.  found  Harold  Hastings  fumbling  them  over,  and 


ARTHUR.  59 

that  she  sent  him  out  with  a  sharp  reprimand.  Harold 
was  then  looked  for  and  could  not  be  found,  for  he  had 
been  at  home  and  in  bed  for  a  good  two  hours.  Clearly, 
then,  he  knew  something  of  the  pin  ;  and  Peterkin  and  his 
wife  said  good-night  resolving  to  see  the  boy  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning  and  demand  their  property. 

When  the  Peterkins  were  gone  Arthur  started  at  once 
for  his  room,  but  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  said 
to  his  brother  : 

"  Don't  forget  to  have  the  carriage  at  the  station  at 
seven  o'clock.  Gretchen  is  sure  to  be  there." 

"  All  right,"  was  Frank's  reply. 

While  Mrs.  Tracy  asked: 

"Who  is  Gretchen?" 

If  Arthur  heard  her  he  made  no  reply,  but  kept  on  up 
the  stairs  to  his  room,  where  they  heard  him  for  a  long 
time  walking  about,  opening  and  shutting  windows,  lock- 
ing and  unlocking  trunks,  and  occasionally  splashing  water 
over  his  face  and  hands. 

"  Your  brother  is  a  very  elegant-looking  man,"  Mrs. 
Tracy  said  to  her  husband,  as  she  was  preparing  to  retire. 
"  Quite  like  a  foreigner  ;  but  how  bright  his  eyes  are,  and 
how  they  look  at  you  sometimes.  They  almost  make  me 
afraid  of  him. 

Frank  made  no  direct  reply.  .In  his  heart  there  was 
an  undefined  fear  which  he  could  not  then  put  into  words, 
and  with  the  remark  that  he  was  very  tired,  he  stepped  into 
bed,  and  wns  just  falling  into  a  quiet  sleep  whon  there 
came  a  knock  upon  his  door  loud  enough,  it  seemed  to  him, 
to  waken  the  dead.  Starting  up  he  demanded  who  was 
there,  and  what  was  wanted. 

"  It  is  I,"  Arthur  said.  "  I  thought  I  smelled  gas  and 
I  have  been  hunting  round  for  it.  There  is  nothing  worse 
to  breathe  than  gas  whether  from  the  furnace  or  the  drain. 
I  hope  that  is  all  right." 

"Yes,"  Frank  answered,  a  little  crossly.  "Had  a 
new  one  put  in  two  weeks  ago." 

"  If  there's  gas  in  the  muin  sewer  it  will  come  up  just 
the  same,  and  1  am  sure  I  smell  it,"  Arthur  said.  "  I  think 
I  shall  have  all  the  waste-pipes  which  connect  with  the 
drain  cut  off.  Good -night.  Am  sorry  I  disturbed  you." 

They  heard  him  as  ho  went  across  the  hall  to  his  room, 


60  WHO    IS    GRETCHEN  f 

and  Frank  was  settling  down  again  to  sleep  when  there 
came  a  second  knock,  and  Arthur  said,  in  a  whisper  : 

"  I  hope  I  do  not  trouble  you,  but  I  have  decided  to  go 
myself  to  the  station  to  meet  Gretchen.  She  is  very  timid, 
and  does  not  speak  much  English.  Good-night,  once 
more,  and  pleasant  dreams." 

To  sleep  now  was  impossible,  and  both  husband  and 
wife  turned  restlessly  on  their  pillows,  Frank  wondering 
what  ailed  his  brother,  and  Dolly  wondering  who  Gretchen 
was,  and  how  her  coming  would  affect  them. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHO    IS    GRKTCHEN  ? 

THIS  was  the  question  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tracy  askod 
each  other  many  times  during  the  hours  which  inter- 
vened between  their  retiring  and  rising.  But  speculate  as 
they  might,  they  could  reach  no  satisfactory  conclusion, 
and  were  obliged  to  wait  for  what  the  morning  and  the 
train  might  bring.  The  party  had  been  a  success,  and 
Frank  felt  that  his  election  to  Congress  was  almost,  cer- 
tain ;  but  of  what  avail  would  that  be  if  he  lost  his  foot- 
hold at  Tracy  Park,  as  he  was  sure  to  do  if  a  woman 
appeared  upon  the  scene.  Both  he  and  his  wife  had  out- 
grown the  life  of  eleven  years  ago,  and  could  not  go  b  ick 
to  it  without  a  struggle,  and  it  is  not  strange  if  both  wished 
that  the  troublesome  brother  had  remained  abroad  instead 
of  coming  home  so  suddenly  and  disturbing  all  their  plans. 
They  heard  him  moving  in  his  room  before  the  clock 
struck  six,  and  knew  he  was  getting  himself  in  readiness 
to  meet  the  dreaded  Gretchen.  Then,  long  before  the  car- 
riage came  round  they  heard  him  in  the  hall  opening  the 
windows  and  admitting  a  gust  of  wind  which  blew  their 
door  open,  and  when  Frank  arose  to  shut  it,  he  saw  the 
top  of  Arthur's  broad-brimmed  hat  disappearing  down  the 
stairs. 

"  I  believe  he  is  going  to  walk  to  the  station  ;  he  cer- 
tainly is  crazy,"  Frank  said  to  his  wife,  as  they  dressed 


WHO    JS    ORETCHENf  61 

themselves,  and  waited  with  feverish  impatience  for  the 
return  of  the  carriage. 

Arthur  did  walk  to  the  station,  which  he  reached  just 
as  the  ticket  agent  was  unlocking  the  door,  and  there, 
with  his  Spanish  cloak  wrapped  around  him,  he  stalked  up 
and  down  the  long  platform  for  more  than  an  hour,  for 
the  train  was  late,  and  it  was  nearer  eight  than  seven  when 
it  finally  came  in  sight. 

Standing  side  by  side,  Arthur  and  John  looked  anx- 
iously for  some  one  to  alight,  but  nobody  appeared,  and 
the  expression  of  Arthur's  face  was  pitiable  as  he  turned  it 
to  John,  and  said  : 

'•'Gretchen  did  not  come.  Where  do  you  suppose  she 
is?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  On  the  next  train,  may  be," 
was  John's  reply,  at  which  Arthur  caught  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  the  next  train,  most  likely.  We  will  come  and 
meet  it  ;  and  now  drive  home  as  fast  as  you  can.  This 
disappointment  has  brought  that  heat  to  my  head,  and  I 
must  have  a  bath.  But  stop  a  bit ;  who  is  the  best  carpen- 
ter in  town?"  . 

John  told  him  that  Belknap  was  the  best,  and  Burch- 
ard  the  highest  priced. 

"  I'll  see  them  both,"  Arthur  said.  "  Take  me  to  their 
houses  ;"  and  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  he  had  inter- 
viewed both  Burchard  and  Belknap,  and  made  an  appoint- 
ment with  both  for  the  afternoon. 

Then  he  was  driven  back  to  Tracy  Park,  where  break- 
fast had  been  waiting  until  it  was  spoiled,  and  the  cook's 
temper  was  spoiled,  too,  and  when  Frank  and  Dolly  met 
him  at  the  door,  both  asked  in  the  same  breath  : 

"Where  is  she  ?" 

"  She  was  not  on  this  train.  She  will  come  on  the  next. 
We  must  go  and  meet  her,"  was  Arthur's  reply,  as  he 
passed  up  the  stairs,  while  Frank  and  his  wife  looked  won- 
deringly  at  each  other. 

The  spoiled  breakfast  was  eaten  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tracy 
alone,  for  the  children  had  had  theirs  and  gone  to  their 
lessons,  and  Arthur  had  said  that  lie  never  took  anything 
in  the  morning  except  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  roll,  and  these 
he  wished  sent  to  his  room,  together  with  a  time-table. 

After  breakfast  Mrs.  Tracy,  who  was  suffering  from  a 


62  WHO    IS    GRETCHEN? 

sick  headache,  declared  her  inability  to  sit  up  a  moment 
longer  and  returned  to  her  bed,  leaving  her  husband  and 
the  servants  to  bring  what  order  they  could  out  of  the  con- 
fusion reigning  everywhere,  and  nowhere  to  a  greater 
extent  than  in  Arthur's  room,  or  rather  the  rooms  which 
he  had  appropriated  to  himself,  and  into  which  he  had  all 
his  boxes  and  trunks  brought,  so  that  he  could  open  them 
at  his  leisure.  There  were  more  coming,  he  said,  boxes 
which  were  still  in  the  custom-house,  and  which  contained 
many  valuable  things,  such  as  pictures,  and  statuary,  and 
rugs,  and  inlaid  tables,  and  china. 

The  house,  which  was  very  large,  had  two  wings,  while 
the  main  building  was  divided  by  a  wide  hall,  with  three 
rooms  on  each  side,  the  middle  one  being  a  little  smaller 
than  the  other  two,  with  each  of  which  it  communicated 
by  a  door.  And  it  was  into  this  middle  room  on  the 
second  floor  Arthur  had  been  put,  and  which  he  found 
quite  too  small  for  his  use-.  So  he  ordered  both  the  doors 
to  be  opened  and  took  possession  of  the  suite,  pacing  them 
several  times,  and  then  measuring  their  length,  and 
breadth,  and  height,  and  the  distance  between  the  win- 
dows. Then  he  inspected  the  wing  on  that  side  of  the 
house,  and,  going  into  the  yard,  looked  the  building  over 
from  all  points,  occasionally  marking  a  few  lines  on  the 
paper  he  held  in  his  hand.  Before  noon  every  room  in  the 
house,  except  the  one  where  Dolly  lay  sick  with  a  head- 
ache, had  been  visited  and  examined  minutely,  while  Frank 
watched  him  nervously,  wondering  if  he  would  think  they 
had  injured  anything,  or  had  expended  too  much  money 
on  furniture.  But  Arthur  was  thinking  of  none  of  these 
things,  and  found  fault  with  nothing  except  the  drain  and 
the  gas-fixtures,  all  of  which  he  declared  bad,  saying  that 
the  latter  must  be  changed  at  once,  and  that  ten  pounds 
of  copperas  must  be  bought  immediately  and  put  kown  the 
drain,  and  that  quantities  of  chloride  of  lime  and  carbolic 
acid  must  be  placed  where  there  was  the  least  clanger  of 
vegetable,  decomposition. 

"  I  am  very  sensitive  to  smells,  and  afraid  of  them,  too, 
for  they  breed  malaria  and  disease  of  all  kinds/'  he  said  to 
the  cook,  whose  nose  and  chin  both  were  high  in  the  air, 
not  on  account  of  any  obnoxious  odor,  but  because  of  this 
meddling  with  what  she  considered  her  own  affairs.  If 


63 

things  were  to  go  on  in  this  way,  she  said  to  the  house- 
maid, and  if  that  man  was  going  to  put  his  nose  into 
drains,  and  gas-pipes,  and  kerosene  lamps,  and  bowls  of 
sour  milk  which  she  might  have  forgotten,  she  should  give 
notice  to  quit. 

But  when,  half  an  hour  later,  some  boxes  and  trunks 
which  had  come  by  express  were  deposited  in  the  back  hall, 
and  Arthur,  who  was  superintending  them,  said  to  her,  as 
he  pointed  to  a  large  black  trunk,  "  I  think  this  has  the 
dress  patterns  and  shawls  I  brought  for  you  girls  ;  for 
though  I  did  not  know  you  personally,  I  knew  that  women 
were  always  pleased  with  anything  from  Paris,"  her  feel- 
ings underwent  a  radical  change,  and  Arthur  was  free  to 
smell  the  drain  and  the  gas-fixtures  as  much  as  he  liked. 

He  was  very  busy,  and,  though  always  pleasant,  and 
even  familiar  at  times,  there  was  in  all  he  said  and  did  an 
air,  as  if  he  had  assumed  the  mastership.  And  he  had. 
Everything  was  his,  and  he  knew  it,  and  Frank  knew  it, 
too,  and  gave  no  sign  of  rebelling  when  the  reins  were 
taken  from  him  by  one  who  seemed  to  be  driving  at  a 
break-neck  speed.  « 

At  lunch,  while  the  brothers  were  together,  Arthur 
declared  his  intentions  in  part,  but  not  until  Frank,  who 
was  anxious  to  get  it  off  his  mind,  said  to  him  : 

"  By  the  way,  t  suppose  you  will  be  going  to  the  office 
this  afternoon,  to  see  Colvin  and  look  over  the  books.  I 
believe  you  will  find  them  straight,  and  hope  you  will  not 
think  I  have  spent  too  much,  or  drawn  too  large  a  salary. 
If  you  do,  I  will " 

"  Nonsense  I"  was  Arthur's  reply,  with  a  graceful 
shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  Don't  bother  aboiit  that  ;  there 
is  money  enough  for  us  both.  What  I  invested  in  Europe 
has  trebled  itself,  and  more  too,  and  would  make  me  a 
rich  man  if  I  had  nothing  else.  I  am  always  lucky.  I 
played  but  once  at  Monte  Carlo,  just  before  I  came  home, 

and  won  ten  thousand  dollars,  which  I  invested  in But 

no  matter;  that  is  a  surprise — something  for  your  wife  and 
Gretchen.  I  have  come  home  to  stay.  I  do  not  think  I  am 
quite  what  I  used  to  be.  I  was  sick  all  that  time  when  you 
heard  from  me  so  seldom,  and  I  am  not  strong  yet.  I  need 
quiet  and  rest.  I  have  seen  the  world,  and  a  in  tired  of  it, 
and  now  I  want  a  house  for  Gretchen  and  myself,  and  you, 


64  WHO    IS    GRETCHEN? 

too.  I  expect  you  to  stay  with  me  as  long  as  we  pull 
together  pleasantly,  and  you  do  not  interfere  with  my  plans. 
I  am  going  to  take  the  three  south  rooms  on  the  second 
floor  for  my  own.  I  shall  put  folding-doors,  or  rather  a 
wide  arch  between  two  of  them,  making  them  seem  almost 
like  one,  and  these  I  shall  fit  up  to  suit  my  own  taste.  In 
the  smaller  and  middle  room,  where  I  slept  last  night, 
I  shall  have  a  large  bow  window,  with  shelves  for  books  in 
the  spaces  between,  and  beneath,  and  by  the  sides  of  the 
windows.  I  got  the  idea  in  a  villa  a  little  way  out  of  Flor- 
ence. Opposite  this  bow  window,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  I  shall  have  niches  in  the  wall  and  corners  for  statu- 
ary, with  shelves  for  books  above  and  below.  I  have  some 
beautiful  pieces  of  marble  from  Florence  and  Eome.  The 
Venus  de  Milo,  Apollo  Belvidere,  Nydia  and  Pschye,  and 
Ruth  at  the  Well.  But  the  crowning  glory  of  this  room 
will  be  the  upper  half  of  the  middle  window  of  the  bow. 
This  is  to  be  of  stained  glass,  bright  but  soft  colors  which 
harmonize  perfectly,  two  rows  on  the  four  sides,  and  in  the 
center  a  lovely  picture  of  Gretchen,  also  of  cathedral  glass, 
^ind  so  like  her  that  it  seems  to  speak  to  me  in  her  soft 
German  tongue.  I  had  it  made  from  a  photograph  I  have 
of  her,  and  it  is  very  natural — the  same  sad,  sweet  smile 
around  the  lips  which  never  said  an  unkind  word  to  any 
one — the  same  bright,  wavy  hair,  and  eyes  of  blue,  inno- 
cent as  a  child — and  Gretchen  is  little  more  than  that. 
She  is  only  twenty-one — poor  little  Gretchen  !"  and,  lean- 
ing back  in  his  chair,  Arthur  seemed  to  be  lost  in  recollec- 
tions of  the  past. 

Not  pleasant,  all  of  them,  it  would  seem,  for  there  was 
a  moisture  in  his  eyes  when  he  at  last  looked  up  in  response 
to  his  brother's  question 

"  Who  did  you  say  Gretchen.  was  ?" 

Instantly  the  expression  of  the  eyes  changed  to  one  of 
wariness  and  caution,  as  Arthur  replied: 

"  I  did  not  say  who  she  was,  but  you  will  soon  know.  I 
saw  by  the  time-table  that  the  train  which  passes  here  at 
eleven  does  not  stop,  but  the  three  o'clock  does,  and  you 
will  please  see  that  John  goes  with  the  carriage.  I  may  be 
occupied  with  the  carpenters,  Burchard  and  Belkuap,  who 
are  coming  to  talk  with  me  about  the  changes  I  purpose  to 
make,  and  which  I  wish  commenced  immediately.  It  is  a 


"WHO    IS    GRETCHEN  f  65 

rule  of  mine,  when  I  am  to  do  a  thing,  to  do  it  at  once.  So 
I  shall  employ  at  least  twenty  men,  and  before  Christmas 
everything  will  be  finished,  and  I  will  show  you  rooms 
worthy  of  a  palace.  It  is  of  Gretchen  I  am  thinking,  more 
than  of  myself.  Poor  Gretchen  !" 

Arthur's  voice  was  inexpressibly  sad  and  pitiful  as  he 
said  "  Poor  Gretchen/'  while  his  eyes  again  grew  soft  and 
tender,  with  a  far-away  look  in  them,  as  if  they  were  see- 
ing things  in  the  past  rather  than  in  the  future. 

There  was  not  a  particle  of  sentiment  in  Frank's  nature, 
and  Gretcheii  was  to  him  an  object  of  dread  rather  than  of 
romance.  So  far  as  he  could  judge  his  brother  had  no 
intention  of  routing  him  ;  but  a  woman  in  the  field  would 
be  different,  and  he  should  at  once  lose  his  vantage-ground. 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  fond  of  Gretchen, ".he  said,  at 
last. 

"  Fond  !"  Arthur  replied.  "  I  should  say  I  am,  though 
the  poor  child  has  not  much  cause  to  think  so.  But  I  am 
going  to  atone,  and  this  suite  of  rooms  is  for  her.  I  mean 
to  make  her  a  very  queen,  and  dress  her  in  satin  and  dia- 
monds every  day.  She  has  the  diamonds.  I  sent  them  to 
her  when  I  wrote  her  to  join  me  in  Liverpool." 

"  And  she  did  join  you,  I  suppose  ?"  Frank  said,  deter- 
mined by  adroit  questioning  to  learn  something  of  the 
mysterious  Gretchen. 

"  Yes,  she  joined  me,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Was  she  very  sea-sick  ?"  Frank  continued. 

"  Not  a  minute.  She  sat  by  me  all  the  time  while  I 
lay  in  my  berth,  but  she  would  not  let  me  hold  her  hand, 
and  if  I  tried  to  touch  even  her  hair,  she  always  moved 
away  to  the  other  side  of  the  state-room,  where  she  sat 
looking  at  me  reproachfully  with  those  soft  blue  eyes  of 
hers." 

"  And  she  was  with  JTOU  at  the  Brevoort  in  New  York  ?" 
Frank  said. 

'  Yes,  with  me  at  the  Brevoort." 
'  And  in  the  train  ?" 
'  Yes,  and  in  the  train." 
<  And  you  left  her  there  ?" 

'  No  ;  she  left  herself.  She  did  not  follow  me  out. 
She  went  on  by  mistake,  but  is  sure  to  come  back  this 
afternoon,"  Arthur  replied,  rather  excitedly,  just  as  a 


66  WHO    28    QRETGHENf 

sharp  ring  at  the  bell  announced  the  arrival  of  Burchard 
and  Belknap,  the  leading  carpenters  of  the  town,  with 
whom  he  was  closeted  for  the  next  two  hours,  and  both  of 
whom  he  finally  hired  in  order  to  expedite  the  work  he 
had  in  hand. 

At  precisely  three  o'clock  the  carriage  from  Tracy 
Park  drew  up  before  the  station,  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
the  train  and  Gretchen.  But  though  the  former  came, 
the  latter  did  not,  and  John  returned  alone,  mentally  vow- 
ing to  himself  that  he  would  not  be  sent  on  a  fool's  errand 
a  third  time  ;  but  five  o'clock  found  him  there  again,  with 
the  same  result.  Gretchen  did  not  come,  and  Arthur's 
face  wore  a  sad,  troubled  expression,  and  looked  pale  and 
worn,  notwithstanding  the  many  times  he  bathed  it  in  the 
coldest  water,  and  rubbed  it  with  the  coarsest  towels. 

He  had  unpacked  several  of  his  trunks  and  boxes,  and 
made  friends  of  all  the  servants  by  the  presents,  curious 
and  rare,  which  he  gave  them,  while  Dolly's  headache  had 
been  wholly  cured  at  sight  of  the  exquisite  diamonds  which 
her  husband  brought  to  her  room  and  told  her  were  the 
gift  of  Arthur,  who  had  bought  them  in  Paris,  and  who 
begged  her  to  accept  them  with  his  love. 

The  box  itself,  which  was  of  tortoise  shell,  lined  with 
blue  velvet,  was  a  marvel  of  beauty,  while  the  pin  was  a 
cluster  of  five  diamonds,  but  the  ear-rings  were  solitaires, 
large  and  brilliant,  and  Dolly's  delight  knew  no  bounds  as 
she  took  the  dazzling  stones  in  her  hands  and  examined 
them  carefully.  Diamonds  were  the  jewels  of  all  others 
which  she  coveted,  but  which  Frank  had  never  felt  war- 
ranted in  buying,  and  now  they  were  hers,  and  for  a  time 
she  forgot  even  Gretchen,  whose  arrival,  or  rather  non- 
arrival,  troubled  her  as  much  as  it  did  her  brother-in-law. 

Arthur  had  been  very  quiet  and  gentle  all  the  after- 
noon, showing  no  sign  of  the  temper  he  had  exhibited  the 
previous  night  at  sight  of  Harold,  until  about  six  o'clock, 
when  Tom,  his  nephew  came  rushing  into  the  library,  fol- 
lowed by  Peterkin,  very  hot  and  very  red  in  the  face,  which 
he  mopped  with  his  yellow  silk  handkerchief. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  Tom  began,  "  what  do  you  think  Har- 
old Hastings  has  done  ?  He  stole  Mrs.  Peterkin's  gold  pin 
last  night.  It  was  stuck  in  her  shawl,  and  she  could  not 
find  it,  and  Lucy  saw  him  fumbling  with  the  things,  and 


WHO    IS    a  RET  CHEN?  67 

he  denies  it  up  hill  and  down,  and  Mr.  Peterkin  is  going  to 
arrest  him.  I  guess  Dick  St.  Clair  won't  think  him  the 
nicest  boy  in  town  now.  The  thief  !  I'd  like" — 

But  what  he'would  like  was  never  known,  for  with  a 
spring  Arthur  bounded  towards  him,  and  seizing  him  by 
the  coat  collar,  shook  him  vigorously,  while  he  exclaimed  : 

"Coward  and  liar  !  Harold  Hastings  is  not  a  thief! 
No  child  of  Amy  Crawford  could  ever  be  a  thief,  and  if 
you  say  that  again,  or  even  insinuate  it  to  any  living  being, 
I'll  break  every  bone  in  your  body.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  no,  sir.  I  won't ;  I  won't,"  Tom  gasped,  as 
well  as  he  could,  with  his  head  bobbing  forward  and  back 
so  rapidly  that  his  teeth  cut  into  his  under  lip. 

"  But  /  shall,"  Peterkin  roared.  "  I'll  have  the  young 
dog  arrested,  too,  if  he  don't  own  up  and  give  up." 

There  was  a  wicked  look  in  Arthur's  black  eyes  which 
were  fastened  upon  Peterkin,  as  he  said  : 

"  What  does  it  all  mean,  sir  ?  "Will  you  please 
explain  ?" 

"  Yes,  in  double  quick  time,"  Peterkin  replied,  a  little 
nettled  by  Arthur's  manner,  which  he  could  not  under- 
stand. "  You  see  me  and  May  Jane  was  early  to  the  doin's  ; 
fust  ones,  in  fact,  for  when  your  invite  says  half  past  seven 
it  means  it,  I  take  it.  Wall,  we  was  here  on  time,  and 
May  Jane  has  been  on  a  tear  ever  since,  and  says  Miss  St. 
Claire  nor  none  of  the  big  bugs  didn't  come  till  nine,  which 
I  take  as  imperlite,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Never  mind  ;  we  are  not  discussing  etiquette.  Go  on 
with  the  pin  and  the  boy,"  Arthur  said,  haughtily. 

"  May  Jane,"  Peterkin  continued,  "  had  a  gold-headed 
shawl-pin,  with  a  small  diamond  in  the  head — real,  too,  for 
I  don't  b'lieve  in  shams,  and  hain't  sence  the  day  I  quit 
boatin'  and  hauled  the  'Liza  Ann  up  inter  my  back  yard. 
Wall,  she  left  this  pin  stickin*  in  her  shawl,  and  no  one  was 
up  there  but  this  boy  of  that  Crawford  gal's  and  nobody 
knows  who  else." 

Something  in  Arthur's  face  and  manner  mnde  Frank 
think  of  a  tiger  about  to  pounce  upon  its  prey,  and  he  felt 
himself  growing  cold  with  suspense  and  dread  as  he 
watched  his  brother,  while  Peterkin  continued: 

"  When  May  Jane  came  to  go  home,  her  things  wa'n't 
tb,ere,  and  the  pin  was  missin' ;  and  Lucy,  the  girl,  said 


68  WHO    28    GRETCHEN? 

she  found  the  boy  pullin'  them  over  by  himself,  when  he 
had  no  call  to  bo  in  there ;  and,  sir,  there  ain't  a  lawyer  in 
the  United  States  that  would  refuse  a  writ  on  that  evi- 
dence, and  Fll  get  one  of  St.  Claire  afore  to-morrow  night. 
I  told  'em  so,  the  widder  and  the  boy,  who  was  as  brassy 
as  you  please,  and  faced  me  down  and  said  he  never  seen 
the  pin,  nor  knowed  there  Avas  one  ;  while  she — wall,  I 
s\vow,  if  she  didn't  start  round  lively  for  a  woman  with 
her  leg  bandaged  up  in  vinegar  and  flannel.  When  I 
called  the  brat  a  thief  and  said  I'd  have  him  arrested,  she 
made  for  the  door  and  ordered  me  out — me,  Joel  Peterkiu, 
of  the  'Liza  Ann!  I'll  make  her  smart,  though,  wus  than 
the  rheumatiz.  I'll  make  her  feel  the  heft" — 

He  did  not  have  time  to  finish  the  sentence,  for  the 
tiger  in  Arthur  was  fully  roused,  and  with  a  spring  toward 
Peterkin  he  opened  the  door,  and,  in  a  voice  which  seemed 
to  fill  the  room,  although  it  was  only  a  whisper,  he  said: 

"  Clown  !  loafer  !  puff-ball !  Leave  my  house  instantly, 
and  never  enter  it  again  until  you  have  apologized  to  Mrs. 
Crawford  and  her  grandson  for  the  insult  offered  them  by 
your  vile  accusations.  If  it  were  not  for  soiling  my  hands, 
I  would  throw  you  down  the  steps,"  he  continued,  as  he 
stood  holding  the  door  open,  and  looking,  with  his  flash- 
ing eyes  and  dilated  nostrils,  as  if  he  were  fully  equal  to 
anything. 

Like  most  men  of  the  boasting  sort,  Peterkin  was  a 
coward,  and  though  he  probably  had  twice  the  strength 
of  Arthur,  he  went  through  the  door- way  out  upon  the 
piazza,  where  ho  stopped,  and,  Avith  a  flourish  of  his  fist, 
denounced  the  whole  Tracy  tribe,  declaring  them  a  race  of 
upstarts  no  better  than  he  Avas,  and  saying  he  Avould  yet  be 
even  with  them,  and  make  them  feel  the  heft  of  his  power- 
ful disapprobation.  Whatever  else  he  said  was  not  heard, 
for  Arthur  shut  the  door  upon  him,  and  returning  to  the 
library,  where  his  brother  stood,  pale,  trembling,  and  anx- 
ious for  the  votes  he  felt  he  had  lost,  he  became  on  tha 
instant  as  quiet  and  gentle  as  a  child,  and,  consulting  his 
watch,  said,  in  his  natural  tone: 

'•'Quarter  of  seven,  and  the  train  is  due  at  half-past. 
Please  tell  John  to  have  the  carriage  ready.  I  am  going 
myself  this  time." 

Frank  opened  his  lips  to  protest  against  it,  but  some- 


18    GttBTCSENf  69 

thing  in  his  brother's  manner  kept  him  quiet  and  submis- 
sive. He  was  no  longer  master  there — unless — unless — 
he  scarcely  dared  whisper  to  himself  what ;  but  when  the 
carriage  went  for  the  fourth  time  to  the  station  after  Gret- 
chen  and  returned  without  her,  he  said  to  his  wife: 

"  I  think  Arthur  is  crazy,  and  we  may  have  to  shut 
him  up.-" 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  would,"  was  Dolly's  reply,  in  a  tone' 
of  relief,  for,  thus  far,  Arthur's  presence  in  the  house  had 
not  added  to  her  comfort.     "  Of  course  he  is  crazy,  and 
ought  to  be  taken  care  of  before  he  tears  the  house  down 
over  our  heads,  or  does  some  dreadful  thing." 

"  That's  so,  and  I'll  see  St.  Claire  to-morrow  and  find 
out  the  proper  steps  to  be  taken,"  said  Frank. 

That  night  he  dreamed  of  windows  with  iron  bars 
across  them,  and  strait-jackets,  into  which  he  was  putting 
his  brother,  while  a  face,  the  loveliest  he  had  ever  seen, 
looked  reproachfully  at  him,  with  tears  in  the  soft  blue 
eyes,  and  a  pleading  pathos  in  the  voice  which  said  words 
he  could  not  understand,  for  the  language  was  a  strange 
one  to  him. 

With  a  start  Frank  awoke,  and  found  his  wife  sitting 
up  in  bed,  listening  intently  to  sounds  which  came  from 
the  hall,  where  some  one  was  evidently  moving  around. 

Going  to  the  door  and  looking  out  he  saw  his  brother, 
wrapped  in  a  long  dressing-gown,  with  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  opening  one  window  after  another  until  the  hall  was 
filled  with  the  cold  night  wind,  which  swept  down  the 
long  corridor,  banging  a  door  at  the  farther  end  and  set- 
ting all  the  rest  to  rattling. 

"  Oh,  Frank,  is  that  you?"  Arthur  said.  "  I  am  sorry 
I  woke  you,  but  I  smelled  an  awful  smell  somewhere,  and 
traced  it  to  the  hall,  which  you  see  I  am  airing ;  better 
shut  the  door  or  you  will  take  cold.  The  house  is  full  of 
malaria." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  his  insanity,  and  next 
morning,  when  Mr.  St.  Claire  entered  his  office,  he  found 
Frank  Tracy  waiting  there  to  consult  him  with  regard  to 
the  legal  steps  necessary  to  procure  his  brother's  incarcera- 
tion in  a  lunatic  asylum. 

Arthur  St.  Claire's  face  wore  a  troubled  look  as  he  lis- 
tened, for  he  remembered  a  time,  years  before,  when  he, 


w 

too,  had  been  interested  in  the  lunatic  asylum  at  Worces- 
ter, where  a  beautiful  young  girl,  his  wife,  had  been  con- 
fined. She  was  dead  now,  and  the  Florida  roses  were 
growing  over  her  grave,  but  there  were  many  sad,  regret- 
ful memories  connected  with  her  short  life,  and  not  the 
least  sad  of  these  were  those  of  the  asylum. 

"  If  it  were  to  do  over  again  I  would  not  put  her  there, 
unless  she  became  dangerous,"  he  had  often  said  to  him- 
self, and  he  said  much  the  same  thing  to  Frank  Tracy 
with  regard  to  his  brother. 

"  Keep  him  at  home,  if  possible.  Do  not  place  him 
with  a  lot  of  lunatics  if  you  can  help  it.  No  proof  he  is 
crazy  because  he  smells  everything.  My  wife  does  the 
same.  And  as  to  this  Gretchen,  it  is  possible  there  was 
some  woman  with  him  on  the  ship,  or  in  New  York,  and 
he  may  be  a  little  muddled  there.  You  can  inquire  at  the 
hotel  where  he  stopped/' 

^This  was  Mr.  St.  Claire's  advice,  and  Frank  acted  upon 
it,  'and  took  immediate  steps  to  ascertain  if  there  had  been 
a  lady  in  company  with  his  brother  at  the  Brevoort  House, 
where  he  had  stopped,  or  if  there  had  been  any  one  in  his 
company  on  the  ship,  which  was  still  lying  in  the  dock  at 
New  York.  But  Arthur  Tracy  alone  was  registered 
among  the  list  of  passengers,  and  only  Arthur  Tracy  was 
on  the  books  at  the  hotel.  He  had  come  alone,  and  been 
alone  on  the  sea  and  at  the  hotel. 

Gretchen  was  a  myth,  or  at  least  a  mystery,  though  he 
still  insisted  that  she  would  arrive  with  every  train  from 
Boston  ;  and  for  nearly  a  week  the  carriage  was  sent  to 
meet  her,  until  at  last  there  seemed  to  dawn  upon  his 
mind  the  possibility  of  a  mistake,  and  when  the  carriage 
had  made  its  twentieth  trip  for  nothing,  and  Mr.  St. 
Claire,  who  was  standing  by  him  on  the  platform  when  the 
train  came  up  and  brought  no  Gretchen,  said  to  him, 
"  She  did  not  come,"  he  answered,  sadly,  "No  ;  there  has 
been  some  mistake.  She  will  never  come."  Then,  after 
a  moment  he  added,  "  But  there  is  a  Gretchen,  and  I 
wrote  to  her  to  join  me  in  Liverpool,  and  1  thought  she 
did,  and  was  with  me  on  the  ship  and  in  the  train,  but 
sometimes,  when  my  head  is  so  hot,  I  get  things  mixed, 
and  am  not  sure;  but — "  and  he  looked  wistfully  in  his 
companion's  face,  while  his  voice  trembled  a  little. 


WSO    IS    GnETCHENf  71 

"  Don't  let  them  shut  me  tip  ;  it  will  do  no  good.  I  was 
in  an  asylum  three  years  ov  more  near  Vienna ;  went  of  my 
own  accord,  because  of  that  heat  in  my  head." 

"Been  in  an  asylum?"  Mr.  St.  Claire  said,  wonderingly. 

"Yes/'  Arthur  continued,  "I  was  only  out  three 
months  before  I  sailed  for  home.  I  wrote  occasionally  to 
Frank  and  Gretchen,  but  did  not  tell  them  where  I  was. 
They  called  it  a  maison  de  sante,  and  treated  me  well 
because  I  paid  well,  but  the  sight  of  so  many  crazy  people 
made  me  worse,  and  if  I  had  staid  I  should  have  been  mad 
as  the  maddest  of  them. 

"  Mine  was  a  curious  case,  they  said,  and  one  not  often 
met  with  in  mental  diseases.  I  was  all  right  in  every- 
thing except  my  memory  which  played  me  the  wildest 
tricks — why  I  actually  forgot  my  name,  and  fancied  myself 
an  Austrian.  Strangest  of  all  I  forgot  where  Gretchen 
lived  and  forget  her,  too,  a  part  of  the  time,  and  I  don't 
know  now  how  long  it  was  before  I  went  to  that  place  that 
I  saw  her  last.  As  soon  as  I  came  out  I  was  better,  and  in 
Paris  things  came  back  to  me,  and  when  I  reached  Liver- 
pool I  wrote  to  Gretchen  to  join  me.  That  is  all  1  know. 
I  can  see  that  I  am  in  Frank's  way  and  he  would  like  to 
shut  me  up.  But  stand  by  me  St.  Claire — don't  let  him 
do  it." 

Assuring  him  of  his  support  against  any  steps  which 
might  be  taken  to  prove  him  mad  enough  for  the  asylum, 
Mr.  St.  Claire  continued:  "I  wouldn't  come  for  Gretchen 
any  more.  "Who  is  she  ?" 

"  That  is  my  little  secret,  my  surprise  which  will  be 
like  a  bomb-shell  in  the  camp  when  she  comes,"  Arthur 
replied,  as  he  walked  towards  the  carriage,  while  Mr.  St. 
Claire  looked  curiously  after  him,  and  said  to  himself: 

"That  fellow  is  not  right,  but  he  is  not  a  subject  for  a 
mad-house,  and  I  should  oppose  his  being  sent  there.  I 
do  not  believe,  however,  that  they  will  try  it  on." 


W  ARTSUR    SETTLES   HIMSELF. 

CHAPTER  X. 

AETHUR  8E1TLES  HIMSELF. 

nPHEY  did  try  it  on, but  not  until  after  the  Novemberelec- 
-L  tion,  at  which  Frank  was  defeated  by  a  large  major- 
ity, for  Peterkin  worked  against  him  and  brought  all  the 
"  heft  of  his  powerful  disapprobation"  to  bear  upon  him. 
Although  Frank  had  had  no  part  in  turning  him  from  the 
door  that  morning  after  the  party,  he  had  not  tried  to  pre- 
vent it  by  a  word,  and  this  the  low,  brutal  man  resented, 
and  declared  his  intention  to  defeat  Frank  if  it  cost  him 
half  his  fortune  to  do  so.  And  it  did  cost  him  at  least 
two  thousand  dollars,  for  Frank  Tracy  was  popular  with 
both  parties  ;  many  of  the  Democrats  voted  for  him,  but 
those  who  could  be  bought  on  both  sides,  went  against 
him,  even  to  the  Widow  Shipley's  four  sons  ;  and  when  all 
was  over,  Frank  found  himself  defeated  by  just  as  many 
votes  as  old  Peterkin  had  paid  for,  not  only  in  Shannon- 
dale,  but  in  the  adjoining  towns,  where  his  money  carried 
"  heft,"  as  he  expressed  it. 

It  was  a  terrible  disappointment  to  Frank  and  his  wife, 
who  had  looked  forward  to  a  winter  in  Washington,  where 
they  intended  to  take  a  house  and  enjoy  all  society  had  to 
offer  them  in  the  National  Metropolis.  Particularly  were 
they  anxious  for  the  change  now  that  Arthur  hud  come 
home,  for  it  was  not  altogether  pleasant  to  be  ruled  where 
they  had  so  long  been  rulers,  and  to  see  the  house  turned 
upside  down  without  the  right  to  protest. 

"  I  can't  stand  it,  and  I  won't,"  Frank  said  to  his  wife, 
in  the  first  flush  of  his  bitter  disappointment.  "  Ever 
since  he  came  home  he  has  raised  Cain,  generally,  with  his 
carpenters,  and  masons,  and  painters,  and  stewing  about 
water-pipes,  and  sewer-gas,  and  smells.  He's  mad  as  a 
March  hare,  and  if  I  can't  get  rid  of  him  by  going  to 
Washington,  I'll  do  it  in  some  other  way.  You  know  he 
is  crazy,  and  so  do  I,  and  I'll  swear  to  it  on  a  stack  of 
Bibles  as  high  as  the  house." 

And  Frank  did  swear  to  it,  before  two  or  three  physi- 


ARTHUR    SETTLES    HiMSELt.  ?3 

clans  ami  Mr.  St.  Claire,  who,  at  his  solicitation,  came  to 
Tracy  Park,  and  were  closeted  with  him  for  an  hour  or 
more,  while  he  related  his  grievances,  asserting  finally  that 
he  considered  his  brother  dangerou?,  and  did  not  think  his 
family  safe  with  him,  citing  as  proof,  that  he  had  on  one 
occasion  threatened  to  kill  his  sou  Tom  for  accusing  liar- 
old  Hastings  of  theft. 

How  the  matter  would  have  terminated  is  doubtful,  if 
Arthur  himself  had  not  appeared  upon  the  scene,  calm, 
dignified,  and  courtly  in  his  manner,  which  insensibly 
won  upon  his  hearers,  as,  in  a  few  well-chosen  and  eloquent 
words,  he  proceeded  to  prove  that  though  he  might  be 
peculiar  in  some  respects,  he  was  not  mad,  and  that  a  man 
might  repair  his  own  house,  and  cut  off  his  own  water 
pipes,  and  take  up  his  sewer,  and  detect  a  bad  smell,  and 
still  not  be  a  subject  for  a  lunatic  asylum. 

"  And,"  he  continued,  addressing  his  brother,  "  it  ill 
becomes  you  to  take  this  course  against  me — you,  who 
have  enriched  yourself  at  my  expense,  while  J  have  held  my 
peace.  Suppose  I  require  you  to  give  an  account  of  all  the 
money  which  you  have  considered  necessary  for  your  sup- 
port and  salary  ?  Would  the  world  consider  you  strictly 
honorable  ?  But  I  have  no  wish  to  harm  you.  I  have 
money  enough,  and  cannot  forget  that  you  are  my  brother. 
But  molest  me,  and  I  shall  molest  you.  If  I  go  to  the 
asylum,  you  will  leave  Tracy  Park.  If  I  am  allowed  to 
stay  here  in  peace,  you  can  do  so,  too.  Good-morning, 
gentlemen  !"  and  he  bowed  himself  from  the  room,  leav- 
ing Frank  covered  with  confusion  and  shame  as  he  felt 
that  he  was  beaten. 

The  physicians  did  not  think  it  a  case  in  which  they 
were  warranted  to  interfere.  Neither  could  conscientiously 
sign  a  certificate  which  should  declare  Arthur  a  lunatic, 
and  their  advice  to  Frank  Avas  that  he  should  suffer  his 
brother  to  have  his  own  way  in  his  own  house,  and  when 
ho  felt  that  he  could  not  bear  with  his  idiosyncracies  he 
could  go  elsewhere.  But  it  was  this  going  elsewhere 
which  Frank  did  not  fancy;  and,  after  a  consultation 
with  his  wife,  he  decided  to  let  matters  take  their  course 
for  a  time  at  least. 

Arthur's  allusion  to  the  sums  of  money  his  brother  had 
appropriated  to  his  own  use  had  warned  Frank  that  he  was 


74  ABTHUR    SETTLES    HIMSELF. 

not  quite  so  indifferent  to  or  ignorant  of  his  business 
affairs  as  he  had  seemed  ;  and  this,  of  itself,  served  to  keep 
him  quiet  and.  patient  during  the  confusion  which  ensued, 
as  walls  were  torn  down,  and  doors  and  windows  cut,  while 
the  house  was  filled  with  workmen,  and  the  sound  of  the 
hammer  and  saw  was  heard  from  morning  till  night. 

It  was  the  middle  of  October  when  Arthur  commenced 
his  repairs,  but  so  many  men  did  he  employ,  and  so  rapidly 
was  the  work  pushed  on,  that  the  first  of  January  found 
everything  finished  and  Arthur  installed  in  his  suite  of 
rooms,  which  a  prince  might  have  envied,  so  richly  and 
tastefully  were  they  fitted  up.  Beautiful  pictures  and 
rich  tapestry  covered  the  walls  in  the  first  room,  where 
the  floor  was  inlaid  with  colored  woods,  and  the  center 
was  covered  with  a  costly  Oriental  rug,  which  Arthur  had 
bought  at  H  fabulous  price  in  Paris.  But  the  gem  of  the 
suite  was  the  library,  where  the  statuary  stood  in  the  niches, 
and  where,  from  the  large  bow-window  at  the  south,  a 
young  girl's  face  looked  upon  the  scene  with  an  expression 
of  shy  surprise  and  half  regret  in  the  blue  eyes,  as  if  their 
owner  wondered  how  she  came  there,  and  was  always 
thinking  of  the  fields  and  forests  of  far-away  Germany. 
For  it  was  decidedly  a  German  face  of  the  higher  type,  and 
such  as  is  seldom  found  among  the  lower  or  even  middle 
classes.  And  yet  you  instinctively  felt  that  it  belonged  to 
the  latter,  notwithstanding  the  richness  of  the  dress,  from 
the  pearl-embroidered  cap  set  jauntily  on  the  reddish 
golden  hair  to  the  velvet  bodice  and  the  satin  peasant 
waist.  The  hands,  small  and  dimpled  like  those  of  a  child, 
were  clasped  around  a  prayer-book  and  a  bunch  of  wild 
flowers  which  had  evidently  just  been  gathered.  It  was  a 
marvelously  beautiful  face,  pure  and  sweet  as  that  of  a 
Madonna,  and  the  workmen  involuntarily  bowed  their 
heads  before  it,  wondering  who  she  was,  or  where,  if  liv- 
ing, she  was  now,  and  what  relation  she  bore  to  the  strange 
man  who  often  stood  before  her  whispering  to  himself  : 
"  Poor  little  Gretchen  !  Will  you  never  come  ?  " 
If  he  were  expecting  her  now  he  no  longer  asked  that 
the  carriage  be  sent  to  meet  her.  That  had  been  one  of 
the  proofs  of  his  insanity  as  alleged  by  his  brother,  and 
Arthur  was  sane  enough  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  that 
offense,  but  he  often  went  himself  to  the  station,  when  the 


ARTHUR    SETTLES   HIMSELF.  75 

New  York  trains  were  due,  as  it  was  from  the  west  rather 
than  the  east  that  he  was  now  looking  for  her. 

Frank,  who  watched  him  nervously,  with  all  his  senses 
sharpened,  guessed  what  had  caused  the  change  and  grew 
more  nervous  and  morbid  on  the  subject  of  Gretchen  than 
ever.  At  first  his  brother,  who  was  greatly  averse  to  go- 
ing out,  had  asked  him  to  post  his  letters;  business  letters 
they  seemed  to  be,  for  they  were  addressed  to  business 
firms  in  New  York,  London  and  Paris,  with  all  of  which 
Arthur  had  relations.  But  one  morning  when  Frank  went 
as  usual  to  his  brother's  room  asking  if  there  was  any  mail 
to  be  taken  to  the  office,  Arthur,  who  was  just  finishing  a 
letter,  replied  : 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  will  post  this  myself.  I  have  been 
writing  to  Gretchen/' 

"Yes,  to  Gretchen?"  Frank  said,  quickly,  as  he 
advanced  nearer  to  the  writing-desk,  hoping  to  see  the 
address  on  the  envelope. 

But  Arthur  must  have  suspected  his  motive,  for  he  at 
once  turned  over  the  envelope  and  kept  his  hand  upon  it, 
while  Frank  said  to  him  : 

"  Is  she  in  London  now?" 

"  No;  she  was  never  in  London,"  was  the  curt  reply, 
and  then,  turning  suddenly,  Arthur  faced  his  brother  and 
said:  "Why  are  you  so  curious  about  Gretchen?  It  is 
enough  for  you  to  know  that  she  is  the  sweetest,  truest  lit- 
tle girl  that  ever  lived.  When  she  comes  I  shall  tell  you 
everything,  but  not  before.  You  have  tried  to  prove  me 
crazy:  have  said  I  was  full  of  cranks;  perhaps  I  am,  and 
Gretchen  is  one  of  them,  but  it  does  not  harm  you,  so  leave 
me  in  peace,  if  you  wish  for  peace  yourself." 

There  was  a  menacing  look  in  Arthur's  eyes  which 
Frank  did  not  like,  and  he  resolved  to  say  no  more  to  him 
of  Gretchen,  whose  arrival  he  again  began  to  look  for  and 
dread.  But  she  did  not  come,  or  any  tidings  of  her,  and 
Christmas  came  and  went,  and  the  lovely  bracelets  which 
Arthur  brought  from  the  trunk  he  said  was  hers,  and  into 
which  no  one  had  ever  looked  but  himself,  remained 
unclaimed,  as  did  the  costly  inlaid  work-box  and  the  cut- 
glass  bottles  with  the  golden  stoppers,  while  Arthur 
seemed  to  be  settling  into  a  state  of  great  depression,  caring 
nothing  for  the  outside  world,  but  spending  all  his  time 


76  AttTHUR    SETTLES    HIMSELF. 

in  the  rooms  he  had  prepared  for  himself  and  one  who 
never  came. 

As  far  as  possible  he  continued  his  foreign  habits,  hav- 
ing his  coffee  and  rolls  at  eight  in  the  morning,  his  break- 
fast, as  he  called  it,  at  half-past  twelve,  and  his  dinner  at 
half-past  six.  All  these  meals  were  served  in- his  room  as 
elaborately  and  with  as  much  ceremony  as  if  lords  and 
ladies  sat  at  the  table  instead  of  one  lone  man,  who  required 
the  utmost  attention  and  care  in  the  waiting.  The  finest 
of  linen,  and  china,  and  glass,  and  silver  adorned  his 
table,  with  a  profusion  of  flowers — roses  mostly,  if  he 
could  get  them,  for  Gretchen,  he  said,  was  fond  of  these, 
and,  as  she  might  surprise  him  at  any  moment,  he  wished 
to  be  ready  for  her  and  show  that  he  was  expecting  her. 

Opposite  him,  at  the  end  of  the  table,  was  always  an 
empty  plate  with  its  surroundings,  and  the  curiously 
carved  chair,  which  had  seen  the  lion  at  Lucerne.  But 
no  one  ever  sat  in  it.  No  one  ever  used  the  decorated 
plate,  or  the  glass  mug  at  its  side,  with  its  twisted  handle 
and  the  letter  "  G."  on  the  silver  cover.  Just  what  this 
mug  was  for,  none  of  the  household  knew,  until  Grace 
Atherton,  who  had  traveled  in  Europe,  and  to  whom  Mrs. 
Tracy  showed  it  one  day  when  Arthur  Avas  out,  said  : 

"Why,  it  is  a  beer-mug,  such  as  is  used  in  Germany, 
though  more  particularly  among  the  Bavarian  Alps  and  in 
the  Tyrol.  This  Gretchen  is  probably  a  tippler,  with  a 
red  nose  and  double  chin.  I  wish  to  goodness  she  would 
come  and  satisfy  our  curiosity." 

But  Gretchen  did  not  come,  and  as  the  days  went  by 
Arthur  became  more  and  more  depressed  and  remained 
altogether  in  his  room,  seeing  no  one  and  holding  no  inter- 
course with  the  outside  world.  He  had  returned  no  calls, 
and  had  been  but  once  to  see  Mrs.  Crawford.  That  inter- 
view had  been  a  long  and  sad  one,  and  when  they  talked 
of  Amy,  whose  grave  Arthur  had  visited  on  his  way  to  the 
cottage,  both  had  cried  together,  and  Gretchen  seemed  for 
the  time  forgotten.  They  talked  of  Amy's  husband,  and 
then  Arthur  spoke  of  Amy's  son,  who  was  not  present,  and 
whom  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten,  for  when  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford said  to  him,  "You  saw  him  on  the  night  of  your 
return  home,"  he  looked  at  her  in  a  perplexed  kind  of  way, 
as  if  trying  to  remember  something  which  had  gone  almost 


ARTHUR    SETTLES    HIMSELF.  77 

entirely  from  his  mind.  It  was  this  utter  forgetfulness  of 
people  and  events  which  was  a  marked  feature  of  his  insan- 
ity, if  insane  he  were,  and  he  knew  it  and  struggled 
against  it  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Crawford  told  him  he  had  seen 
Harold  he  tried  to  recall  him,  and  could  not  until  the  boy 
came  in,  flushed  and  excited  from  a  race  with  Dick  St. 
Claire  through  the  crisp  November  wind  which  had 
brought  a  bright  color  to  his  cheek  and  a  sparkle  to  his 
eye.  Then-  Arthur  remembered  everything,  and  some- 
thing of  his  old  prejudice  came  back  to  him,  and  his  man- 
ner was  a  little  constrained  as  he  talked  to  the  boy,  whose 
only  fault  was  that  Harold  Hastings  had  been  his  father. 

He  did  not  stay  long  after  Harold  came  in,  but  said 
good-morning  to  Mrs.  Crawford  and  walked  slowly  away, 
going  again  to  Amy's  grave,  and  taking  from  it  a  few 
leaves  of  the  ivy  which  was  growing  around  the  monu- 
ment. And  this  was  all  the  intercourse  he  held  with  Mrs. 
Crawford,  except  to  send  her  at  Christmas  a  hundred  dol- 
lars, which  he  said  was  for  the  boy  Harold,  to  whom,  he 
had  done  an  injustice. 

After  this  he  seldom  went  out,  but  settled  down  into 
the  life  of  a  recluse,  talking  occasionally  to  himself,  with 
some  unseen  person,  who  must  have  spoken  in  a  foreign 
tongue  or  tongues,  for  sometimes  it  was  French,  sometimes 
Italian,  and  oftener  German  in  which  he  addressed  his 
fancied  guest,  and  neither  Frank  nor  Dolly  could  under- 
stand a  word  of  the  strange  jargon.  On  the  whole,  how- 
ever, he  was  very  quiet  and  undemonstrative,  and  if  he 
Avere  still  expecting  Gretchen,  he  gave  no  sign  of  it,  and 
Frank  was  beginning  to  breathe  freely,  and  to  look  upon 
his  presence  in  the  house  as  not  altogether  unbearable, 
when  an  event  occurred  which  excited  all  Shannondale, 
and  for  a  time  made  Frank  almost  as  crazy  as  his  brother. 


78  TEE    STORM. 

CHAPTER  XL 

THE  STORM. 

rPHE  winter  since  Christmas  had  been  unusually  severe, 
and  the  oldest  inhabitants,  of  whom  there  are  always 
many  in  every  town,  pronounced  the  days,  as  they  came 
and  went,  the  coldest  they  had  ever  known.  Ten,  twelve, 
and  even  fourteen  degrees  below  zero  the  thermometers 
marked  more  than  once,  while  old  Peterkin's  which  was 
hung  inside  the  'Lizy  Ann  and  always  took  the  lead,  went 
down  one  morning  to  seventeen,  and  all  the  water-pipes 
and  pumps  in  town  eitherfroze  or  burst,  and  Arthur  Tracy, 
who  never  forgot  the  poor,  sent  tons  and  tons  of  coal  to 
them,  and  whispered  to  himself  : 

"Poor  Gretchen  !  It  is  hard  for  her  if  she  is  on  the 
sea  in  such  weather  as  this.  Heaven  protect  her,  poor 
little  Gretchen  1" 

The  next  day  there  was  a  change  for  the  better,  and 
the  next,  and  the  next,  until  when  the  last  day  of  Febru- 
ary dawned  people  began  to  look  more  cheerful,  while  the 
sun  tried  to  break  through  the  grey  clouds  which  shrouded 
the  wintry  sky.  But  this  was  only  temporary,  for  before 
noon  the  mercury  fell  again  to  eight  below,  the  wind  began 
to  rise,  and  when  the  New  York  train  came  panting  to  the 
station  at  half-past  six,  clouds  of  snow  so  dense  and  dark 
were  driving  over  the  hills  and  along  the  line  of  the  track 
that  nothing  could  be  distinctly  seen  at  a  distance. 

It  was  not  until  the  train  had  moved  on  that  the  station- 
master,  who  was  gathering  up  the  mail-bag,  which  had  been 
unceremoniously  dropped,  saw  across  the  track  at  a  little 
distance  from  him  the  figure  of  a  woman,  who  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  examine  a  paper  she  held  in  her  hand,  while  cling- 
ing to  her  skirts  and  crying  piteously  was  a  child,  but 
whether  boy  or  girl,  he  could  not  tell. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?"  he  said,  advancing 
toward  the  stranger,  who  caught  up  the  child  in  her  arms, 
and  without  a  word  of  answer,  hurried  away  iu  the  storm 
and  rapidly  increasing  darkness. 

"  Curls  !    She  must  have  got  off  t'other  side  of  the  car. 


THE     STORM.  79 

I  wonder  who  she  is  and  where  she  is  goin*.  Not  fur,  I 
hope,  such  a  night  as  this.  Ugh  !  the  wind  is  like  so 
many  screech  owls  and  almost  takes  a  feller  off  his  feet," 
the  agent  said  to  himself,  as  he  went  back  to  the  light  and 
warmth  of  his  office,  where  he  soon  forgot  the  woman, 
who,  with  the  child  held  closely  in  her  arms,  walked 
swiftly  on,  her  eyes  strained  to  their  utmost  tension  as  they 
peered  through  the  darkness  until  she  reached  agate  opeii' 
ing  into  a  grassy  road  which  led  through  the  fields  in  a 
straight  line  to  Tracy  Park  and  Collingwood  beyond. 

Carriages  seldom  traversed  this  road,  but  in  the  sum- 
mer the  people  from  Collingwood  and  Tracy  Park  fre- 
quently walked  that  way,  as  it  was  a  much  nearer  route  to 
town.  Here  the  woman  stopped,  and  looking  up  at  the 
tall  arch  over  the  gate,  said  aloud,  as  if  repeating  a  lesson 
learned  by  heart. 

"Leave  the  car  on  your  right  hand  ;  take  the  road  to 
the  right,  as  I  have  drawn  it  on  paper  ;  go  straight  on  for 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more  until  you  come  to  a  wide  iron 
gate  with  a  tall  arch  over  it.  This  gate  is  also  at  your 
right.  You  cannot  mistake  it." 

"  No,"  she  continued,  "I  cannot  mistake  it.  This  is 
the  place.  We  are  almost  there,"  and  putting  down  the 
child,  she  tugged  with  all  her  strengh  at  the  gate,  which 
she  at  last  succeeded  in  opening,  and  resuming  her  burden, 
passed  through  into  the  field  where  the  snow  lay  on  the 
ground  in  great  white  drifts,  while  the  blinding  flakes  and 
cutting  sleet  from  the  leaden  clouds  above  beat  pitilessly 
upon  her  as  she  struggled  on  her  wearisome  way. 

And  while  she  toiled  on,  fighting  bravely  with  the 
storm,  and  occasionally  speaking  a  word  of  encouragement 
to  the  little  child  nestled  in  her  bosom,  Arthur  Tracy 
stood  at  one  of  the  windows  in  his  library,  with  his  face 
pressed  against  the  pane,  as  he  looked  anxiously  out  into 
darkness,  shuddering  involuntarily  as  the  wind  came 
screaming  round  a  corner  of  the  house,  bending  the  tall 
evergreens  until  their  slender  tops  almost  touched  the 
ground,  and  then  rushing  on  down  the  carriage-drive  with 
a  shriek  like  so  many  demons  let  loose  from  the  ice-caves 
of  the  north,  where  the  winds  are  supposed  to  hold  high 
carnival. 

They  were  surely  holding  a  carnival  to-night,  and  as 


80  THE     STORM. 

Arthur  listened  to  the  roar  of  the  tempest  he  whispered  to 
himself  : 

"  A  wild,  wild  night  for  Gretchen  to  arrive,  and  her 
dear  little  feet  and  hands  will  be  so  cold;  but  there  is 
warmth  and  comfort  here,  and  love  such  as  she  never 
dreamed  of,  poor  Gretchen  !  I  will  hold  her  in  my  arms 
and  chafe  her  cold  fingers  and  kiss  her  tired  face  until 
she  feels  that  her  home-coming  is  a  happy  one.  It  must 
bj  almost  time/'  and  he  glanced  at  a  small  clock  which 
stood  upon  the  mantle. 

In  the  adjoining  room  the  dinner  table  was  laid  for 
two,  and  one  could  see  that  more  care  than  usual  had  been 
given  to  its  arrangement,  while  the  roses  in  the  center 
were  the  largest  and  finest  of  their  kind.  In  the  grate  a 
bright  fire  was  burning,  and  Arthur  placed  a  large  easy- 
chair  before  it  and  then  brought  from  the  library  a  foot- 
stool, with  a  delicate  covering  of  blue  and  gold.  No  foot 
had  ever  yet  profaned  this  stool  with  a  touch,  for  it  was 
one  of  Arthur's  specialties,  bought  at  a  great  price  in 
Algiers  ;  but  he  brought  it  now  for  Gretchen  and  saw  in 
fancy  resting  upon  it  the  cold  little  feet  his  hands  were  to 
rub  and  warm  and  caress  until  life  came  back  to  them, 
while  Gretcheii's  blue  eyes  smiled  upon  him  and  Gretchen's 
sweet  voice  said  : 

"  Thank  you,  Arthur.     It  is  pleasant  coming  home." 

For  the  last  two  or  three  weeks  Arthur  had  been  very 
quiet  and  taciturn,  but  on  the  morning  of  this  day  he  had 
seemed  restless  and  nervous,  and  his  nervousness  and 
excitability  increased  until  a  violent  headache  came  on, 
and  Charles,  the  servant  who  attended  him,  reported  to 
Mrs.  Tracy  that  his  lunch  had  been  untouched,  and  that 
he  really  seemed  quite  ill.  Then  Frank  went  to  him,  and 
sitting  down  beside  him  as  he  lay  upon  a  couch  in  the 
room  with  Gretchen's  picture,  said  to  him,  not  unkindly  : 

"  Are  you  sick  to-day?" 

For  a  few  moments  Arthur  made  no  reply,  but  lay 
with  his  eyes  closed  as  if  he  had  not  heard.  Then  sud- 
denly rousing  himself,  he  burst  out,  vehemently  : 

"  Frank,  you  think  me  crazy,  and  you  have  based  that 
belief  in  part,  on  the  fact  that  I  am  always  expecting 
Gretchen.  And  so  for  a  long  time  I  have  suppressed  all 
mention  of  her,  though  J  have  never  ceased  to  look  for  her 


THE    STORM.  81 

arrival,  since — since — well,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  the 
truth.  I  know  now  that  she  could  not  have  been  with  rne 
on  the  ship  and  in  the  train,  although  I  thought  she  was. 
I  wrote  her  to  join  me  in  Liverpool,  and  fancied  she  did. 
But  my  brain  must  have  been  a  little  mixed.  She  did  not 
come  witli  me,  and  when  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that,  as  I 
did  a  few  weeks  ago,  I  wrote  again  telling  her  to  come  at 
once,  and  giving  her  directions  how  to  find  the  park  if 
she  should  arrive  at  the  station  and  no  one  there  to  meet 
her.  She  has  had  more  than  time  t)  get  here,  but  I  have 
said  nothing  about  sending  the  carriage  for  her,  as  that 
seems  to  annoy  you.  But  Frank — "  and  Arthur's  voice 
trembled  as  he  went  on — "  I  dreamed  of  her  last  night ; 
such  strange  dreams,  and  to-day  she  seems  so  near  to  me 
that  more  than  once  I  have  put  out  my  hand  to  touch  her. 
Frank,  it  is  not  insanity — this  presentiment  that  she  is 
near  me — that  she  is  coming  to  me,  or  tidings  of  her;  it 
is  mind  acting  upon  mind  ;  her  thoughts  of  me  reaching 
forward  and  fastening  upon  my  thoughts  of  her,  making 
a  mental  bridge  on  which  I  see  her  coining  to  me.  And 
you  will  send  for  her.  You  will  let  John  go  again.  Think 
if  she  should  arrive  in  this  terrible  storm  and  no  one  there 
to  meet  her.  You  will  send  this  once,  and  if  she  is  not 
there  I  will  not  trouble  you  again." 

There  was  something  in  Arthur's  face  which  Frank 
could  not  resist,  and  he  promised  that  John  should  go. 

"Oh,  Frank,"  Arthur  exclaimed,  his  face  brightening 
at  once,  "you  have  made  me  so  happy  !  My  headache  is 
quite  gone  ;"  and  then  he  began  to  plan  the  dinner,  which 
was  to  be  more  elaborate  than  usual,  and  served  an  hour 
later,  so  as  to  give  plenty  of  time  for  Gretchen  to  rest  and 
dress  herself  if  she  wished  to-do  so. 

''  And  she  will  when  she  sees  the  lovely  dress  I  have  for 
her,"  he  thought,  and  after  his  brother  left  him  ho  went 
to  the  large  closet  where  he  kept  the  trunk  which  he  called 
Gretchen's,  and  into  which  Dolly's  curious  eyes  had  never 
looked,  although  she  longed  to  know  its  contents. 

This  Arthur  now  opened,  and  had  Dolly  been  there 
she  would  have  held  her  breath  in  wonder  at  the  many 
beautiful  things  which  it  contained.  Folded  in  one  of  the 
trays,  as  only  a  French  packer  accustomed  to  the  business 
could  have  arranged  it,  was  an  exquisite  dinuer-drcdd  of 
4* 


82  THE    STORM. 

salmon-colored  satin,  with  a  brocaded  front  and  jacket  of 
blue  and  gold,  and  here  and  there  a  knot  of  duchess  lace, 
which  gave  it  a  more  airy  effect.  This  Arthur  took  out 
carefully  and  laid  upon  the  bed  in  his  sleeping-apartment, 
together  with  every  article  of  the  toilet  necessary  to  such  a 
dress,  from  a  lace  pocket-handkerchief  to  a  pair  of  pale-blue 
silk  hose,  which  he  kissed  reverently  as  he  whispered  : 

"Dear  little  feet,  which  are  so  cold  now  in  the  wretched 
car  ;  but  they  will  never  be  cold  again  when  once  I  have 
them  here." 

He  was  talking  in   German,  as  he  always  did  when 
Gretchen  was  the  subject  of  his  thoughts,  and  so  Dolly,  who 
came  to  say  that  some  things  which  he  had  ordered  for  din- 
ner were  impossible  now,  could  not  understand  him,  but 
she   caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dress  upon  the  bed,  and 
advanced  quickly  toward  the  open  door,  exclaiming : 
"  Oh,  Arthur,  what  a  lovely  gown  !     Whose — 
But  before  she  completed   her  question   Arthur  was 
upon  the  threshold  and  had  closed  the  door,  saying  as  he 
did  so  : 

"  It  is  Gretchen's.  I  had  it  made  at  Worth's.  She  is 
coming  to-night,  you  know/* 

Dolly  had  heard  from  her  husband  of  Arthur's  fancy, 
and  though  she  had  no  faith  in  it,  she  replied : 

"  Yes,  Frank  told  me  you  were  expecting  her,  and  I 
came  to  say  that  we  cannot  get  the  fish  you  ordered,  for  no 
one  can  go  to  town  in  this  storm,  and  I  doubt  if  we  could 
find  it  if  we  did.  You  will  have  to  skip  the  fish." 

"All  right;  all  right.  Gretchen  will  be  too  much 
excited  to  care,"  Arthur  replied,  standing  with  his  hand 
upon  the  door-knob  until  Dolly  left  the  room  and  went  to 
the  kitchen,  where  Frank  was  interviewing  the  coachman. 

He  had  found  that  important  personage  before  the  fire, 
bending  nearly  double,  and  complaining  bitterly  of  a  fall 
he  had  just  had  on  his  way  from  the  stable  to  the  house. 
According  to  his  statement,  the  wind  had  taken  him  up 
bodily,  and  carrying  him  a  dozen  rods  or  so,  had  set  him 
down  upon  a  stone  flower-pot  which  was  left  outside,  nearly 
breaking  his  back,  as  he  declared.  This  did  not  look  very 
promising  for  the  drive  to  the  station,  and  Frank  opened 
the  business  hesitatingly,  and  asked  John  what  he  thought 
of  it. 


THE    STORM.  83 

"  I  think  I  would  not  go  out  in  such  a  storm  as  this 
with  my  back  if  Queen  Victoria  was  to  be  there,"  John 
answered,  gruffly.  "And  what  would  be  the  use?"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  have  been  to  meet  that  woman,  if  she  is  a 
woman,  with  the  outlandish  name,  more  than  fifty  times, 
I'll  bet.  lie  don't  know  what  he  is  talking  about  when  he 
gets  on  her  track.  And  s'posin'  she  does  come.  She  can 
find  somebody  to  fetch  her.  She  ain't  going  to  walk." 

This  seemed  reasonable;  and  as  Frank's  sympathies  were 
with  his  coachman  and  horses  rather  than  with  Gretchen 
and  his  brother,  he  decided  with  John  that  he  need  not  go, 
and  then  returned  to  the  library,  resolving  not  to  see  his 
brother  again  until  after  train  time,  but  to  let  him  think 
that  John  had  gone  to  the  station. 

At  half-past  five,  however,  Arthur  sent  for  him,  and 
said: 

"  Has  he  gone  ?    It  must  be  time." 

"Kot  quite;  it  is  only  half -past  five.  The  train  does 
not  come  until  half-past  six,  and  is  likely  to  be  late,"  was 
Frank's  reply. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Arthur  continued  ;  "but  he  should  be 
there  on  time.  Tell  him  to  start  at  once,  and  take  an  extra 
robe  with  him,  and  say  to  Charles  that  I  will  have  sherry 
to-night,  and  champagne,  too,  and  Hamburgh  grapes, 
and " 

The  remainder  of  his  speech  was  lost  on  Frank,  who 
was  hurrying  down  the  stairs,  with  a  guilty  feeling  in  his 
heart,  although  he  felt  that  the  end  justified  the  means,  and 
that  under  the  circumstances  he  was  warranted  in  deceiving 
his  half -crazy  brother.  Still  he  was  ill  at  ease.  He  had 
no  faith  in  Arthur's  presentiments,  and  no  idea  that  any 
one  bound  for  Tracy  Park  would  be  on  the  train  that  night, 
but  he  could  not  shake  off  a  feeling  of  anxiety,  amounting 
almost  to  a  dread  of  some  impending  calamity,  which  pos- 
sibly the  sending  of  John  to  the  station  might  have  averted, 
and  going  to  a  window  in  the  library,  he,  too,  stood  looking 
put  into  the  night,  trying  not  to  believe  that  he  was  watch- 
ing for  some  possible  arrival,  when,  above  the  storm,  he 
heard  the  shrill  scream  of  the  locomotive  as  it  stopped  for 
a  moment,  and  then  dashed  on  into  the  white  snow  clouds  ; 
trying  to  believe,  too,  that  he  was  not  glad,  as  the  minutes 
became  a  quarter,  the  quarter  a  half,  and  the  half  three- 


84  THE    STORM. 

quarters  of  an  hour,  until  at  last  he  heard  the  clock  strike 
the  half-hour  past  seven,  and  nobody  had  come. 

"  I  shall  have  to  tell  Arthur,"  he  thought,  and,  with 
something  like  hesitancy,  he  started  for  his  brother's  room. 

Arthur  was  standing  before  the  fire,  with  his  arm 
thrown  caressingly  across  the  chair  where  Gretcheu  was  to 
sit,  when  Frank  opened  the  door  and  advanced  a  step  or 
two  across  the  threshold. 

"  Has  she  come  ?  I  did  not  see  the  carriage.  Where 
is  she  ?"  Arthur  cried,  springing  swiftly  forward,  while  his 
bright,  eager  eyes  darted  past  his  brother  to  the  open  door- 
way and  out  into  the  hall. 

"No,  she  has  not  come.  I  knew  she  wouldn't;  and  it 
was  nonsense  to  send  the  horses  out  such  a  night  as  this," 
Frank  said,  sternly,  with  a  mistaken  notion  that  he  must 
speak  sharply  to  the  unfortunate  man,  who,  if  rightly  man- 
aged, was  gentle  as  a  child. 

"Not  come  !  There  must  be  some  mistake  !"  Arthur 
said,  all  the  brightness  fading  from  his  face,  which  grew 
pinched  and  pallid  as  he  continued :  "  Not  come  !  Oh, 
Frank  !  did  John  say  so  ?  Was  no  one  there  ?  Let  me 
go  and  question  him — there  must  be  a  mistake." 

He  was  hurrying  toward  the  door,  when  Frank  caught 
his  arm  and  detained  him,  while  he  said,  decidedly  : 

"No  use  to  see  John.  Can't  you  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  no  one  was  there — and  I  knew  there  would  not  be.  It 
was  folly  to  send." 

For  a  moment  Arthur's  pale,  haggard  face,  which  looked 
still  more  haggard  and  pale  with  the  fire-light  flickering 
over  it,  confronted  Frank  steadily  ;  then  the  lips  began  to 
quiver  and  the  eyelids  to  twitch,  while  great  tears  gathered 
in  his  eyes,  until  at  last,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands, 
he  staggered  to  the  couch,  and  throwing  himself  upon  it, 
sobbed  convulsively. 

"  Oh,  Gretchen,  my  darling  !"  he  said  "  I  was  so  sure, 
and  now  everything  is  swept  away,  and  I  am  left  so  deso- 
late." 

Frank  had  never  seen  grief  just  like  this,  and  with  his 
conscience  pricking  him  for  the  deception  he  had  practiced, 
he  found  himself  pitying  his  brother  as  he  had  never  done 
before  ;  and  when  at  last  the  latter  cried  out  loud,  he  went 


THE    STORM.  85 

to  him,  and  laying  his  hand  gently  upon  his  bowed  head, 
said  to  him  soothingly  : 

"  Don't  Arthur ;  it  is  terrible  to  see  a  man  cry  as  you 
are  crying." 

"  No,  no  ;  let  me  cry,"  Arthur  replied.  "  The  tears  do 
me  good,  and  my  brain  would  burst  without  them.  It  is 
all  on  fire,  and  my  head  is  aching  so  hard  again." 

At  this  moment  Charles  appeared,  asking  if  his  master 
would  have  dinner  served.  But  Arthur  could  not  eat,  and 
the  table  which  had  been  arranged  with  so  much  care  for 
Gretchen  was  cleared  away,  while  Gretchen's  chair  was 
moved  back  from  the  fire  and  Gretchen's  footstool  put  in 
its  place,  and  nothing  remained  to  show  that  she  had  been 
expected  except  the  pretty  dress,  with  its  accessories,  which 
lay  upon  Arthur's  bed.  These  he  took  care  of  himself, 
folding  them  with  trembling  hands  and  tear-wet  eyes,  as  a 
fond  mother  folds  the  clothes  her  dead  child  has  worn,  sor- 
rowing most  over  the  half  worn  shoes,  so  like  the  dear  little 
feet  which  will  never  wear  them  again.  So  Arthur  sor- 
rowed over  the  high-heeled  slippers,  with  the  blue  rosettes 
and  pointed  toes,  fashionable  in  Paris  at  that  time.  Gretchen 
had  never  worn  them,  it  is  true,  but  they  seemed  so  much 
like  her,  that  his  tears  fell  fast  as  he  held  them  in  his  hands, 
and  dropping  upon  the  pure  white  satin,  left  a  stain  upon 
it. 

When  everything  was  put  away  and  the  long  trunk 
locked  again,  Arthur  \vent  back  to  the  couch  and  said  to 
his  brother,  who  was  still  in  the  room  : 

"  Don't  leave  me,  Frank,  till  I  am  more  composed. 
My  nerves  are  dreadfully  shaken  to-night,  and  I  feel  afraid 
of  something,  I  don't  know  what.  How  the  wind  howls 
and  moans !  I  never  heard  it  like  that  but  once  before- 
and  that  was  years  ago,  among  the  Alps  in  Switzerland. 
Then  it  blew  off  the  roof  of  the  chalet  where  I  was  staying, 
and  I  heard  afterward  that  Amy  died  that  night.  You 
remember  Amy,  the  girl  I  loved  so  well,  though  not  as  I 
love  Gretchen.  If  she  had  come,  I  should  have  told  you  all 
about  her,  but  now  it  does  not  matter  who  she  is,  or  where 
1  saw  her  first,  knitting  in  the  sunshine,  with  the  halo  on 
her  hair,  and  the  blue  of  the  summer  skies  reflected  in  her 
Oh,  Gretchen,  my  love,  my  love  !" 

He  was  talking  more  to  himself  than  to  Frank,  who  sat 


86  TEE    STORM. 

beside  him  until  far  into  the  night,  while  the  wild  storm 
raged  on  and  shook  the  solid  house  to  its  very  foundations. 
A  tall  tree  in  the  yard  was  uprooted,  and  a  chimney-top 
came  crushing  down  with  a  force  which  threatened  to 
break  through  the  roof.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  lull  in 
the  tempest,  and,  raising  himself  upon  his  elbow,  Arthur 
listened  intently,  and  then,  in  a  whisper,  which  made 
Frank's  blood  curdle  in  his  veins,  he  said  : 

"  Hark  !  there's  more  abroad  to-night  than  the  storm  ! 
Something  is  happening  which  affects  me.  I  have  heard 
voices  in  the  wind  all  the  evening — Gretchen  calling  me 
from  far  away.  Frank,  Frank,  did  you  hear  that  ?  It 
was  a  woman's  cry ;  her  voice — Gretchen's.  Yes,  Gretchen, 
I  am  coming." 

With  a  bound  he  was  at  the  window,  which  he  opened, 
and  leaning  far  out  of  it,  listened  to  hear  repeated  a  sound 
which  Frank,  too,  had  heard — a  cry  like  the  voice  of  one  in 
mortal  peril  calling  for  help. 

It  might  have  been  the  wind  which  swept  round  the 
corner  in  a  great  gust,  driving  the  snow  and  sleet  into 
Arthur's  face,  and  making  him  draw  in  his  body,  nearly 
half  of  which  was  leaning  from  the  window  as  he  waited 
for  the  cry  to  be  repeated.  But  it  did  not  come  again, 
though  Frank,  whose  nerves  were  strung  to  almost  as  high 
a  tension  as  his  brother's,  thought  he  heard  it  once  more 
above  the  roar  of  the  tempest,  and  a  feeling  of  disquiet 
took  possession  of  him  as  he  sat  for  an  hour  longer  talk- 
ing to  his  brother,  and  listening  to  the  noise  without. 

Gradually  the  storm  subsided,  and  when  the  clock 
struck  one  the  wind  had  gone  down,  the  snow  had  ceased 
to  fall,  and  the  moon  was  struggling  feebly  through  a  rift 
of  dark  clouds  in  the  west.  After  persuading  his  brother 
to  go  to  bed,  Frank  retired  to  his  own  room,  and  was  soon 
asleep,  unmindful  of  the  tragedy  which  was  being  enacted 
not  very  far  away,  where  a  little  child  was  smiling  in  its 
dreams,  while  the  woman  beside  it  was  praying  for  life  until 
her  mission  should  be  accomplished. 


THE    TRAMP    HOUSE.  87 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   TRAMP    HOUSE. 

ABOUT  midway  between  the  entrance  to  the  park  and 
the  Collingwood  grounds,  and  twenty  rods  or  more 
from  the  cross-road  which  the  strange  woman  had  taken  on 
the  night  of  the  storm,  stood  a  small  stone  building,  which 
had  been  used  as  a  school-house  until  the  Shannondale 
turnpike  was  built  and  the  cross-road  abandoned.  After 
that  it  was  occupied  by  one  poor  family  after  another,  until 
the  property  of  which  it  was  a  part  came  into  the  hands  of 
the  elder  Mr.  Tracy,  who,  with  his  English  ideas,  thought 
to  make  it  a  lodge  and  bring  the  gates  of  his  park  down  to 
it.  But  this  he  did  not  do,  and  the  house  was  left  to  the 
mercy  of  the  winds,  and  the  storms,  and  the  boys,  until 
Arthur  became  master,  and  with  his  artistic  taste  thought 
to  beautify  it  a  little  and  turn  it  to  some  use. 

"  I  would  tear  it  down,"  he  said  to  Mr.  St.  Claire,  who 
stood  with  him  one  day  looking  at  it,  "I  would  tear  it 
down,  and  have  once  or  twice  given  orders  to  that  effect, 
but  as  often  countermanded  them.  I  do  not  know  that  I 
am  superstitious,  but  I  am  subject  to  fancies,  or  presenti- 
ments, or  whatever  you  choose  to  call  those  moods  which 
take  possession  of  you  and  which  you  cannot  shake  off,  and, 
singularly  enough,  one  of  these  fancies  is  connected  with 
this  old  hut,  and  as  often  as  I  decide  to  remove  it  some- 
thing tells  me  not  to  ;  and  once  I  actually  dreamed  that  a 
dead  woman's  hand  clutched  me  by  the  arm  and  bade  me 
leave  it  alone.  A  case  of  *  Woodman  spare  that  tree/  you 
see." 

And  Arthur  laughed  lightly  at  his  own  morbid  fancies, 
but  he  left  the  house  and  planted  around  it  quantities  of 
woodbine,  which  soon  crept  up  its  sides  to  the  chimney-top 
and  made  it  look  like  the  ivy-covered  cottages  so  common 
in  Ireland.  It  was  the  nicest  kind  of  rendezvous  for  lovers, 
who  frequently  availed  themselves  of  its  seclusion  to  whis- 
per their  secrets  to  each  other,  and  it  was  sometimes  used 
as  a  dining-room  by  the  people  of  Shannondale,  when  in 


88  THE    TRAMP    HOUSE. 

summer  they  held  picnics  in  the  pretty  pine  grove  not  far 
away.  But  during  Arthur's  absence  it  had  beeen  suffered 
to  go  to  decay,  for  Frank  cared  little  for  lovers  or  picnics, 
and  less  for  the  tramps  who  often  slept  there  at  night,  and 
for  whom  it  came  at  last  to  be  called  the  Tramp  House. 
So  the  winds,  and  the  storms,  and  the  boys  did  their  work 
upon  it  unmolested,  and  when  Arthur  came  home,  the 
door  hung  upon  one  hinge,  and  there  was  scarcely  a  whole 
light  of  glass  in  the  six  windows. 

"  Better  tear  the  old  rookery  down.  It  is  of  no  earthly 
use  except  to  harbor  rats  and  tramps.  I've  known  two  or 
three  to  spend  the  night  in  it  at  a  time,  and  once  a  lot  of 
gipsies  quartered  themselves  here  for  a  week  and  nearly 
scared  Dolly  to  death/'  Frank  said  to  his  brother  as  they 
were  walking  past  it,  and  Arthur  was  commenting  upon  its 
dilapidated  appearance. 

"Oh,  the  tramps  sleep  here,  do  they?"  Arthur  said. 
"  Well,  let  them.  If  any  poor,  homeless  wretches  want  to 
stay  here  nights  they  are  very  welcome,  I  am  sure,  and  I 
will  see  that  the  door  is  re-hung  and  glass  put  in  the  win- 
dows. May  as  well  make  them  comfortable." 

"  Do  as  you  like,"  Frank  replied,  and  there,  so  far  as 
he  was  concerned,  the  matter  ended. 

But  while  the  carpenters  were  at  work  at  the  Park, 
Arthur  sent  one  of  them  to  the  old  stone  house  and  had 
the  door  fixed  and  glass  put  in  two  of  the  windows,  while 
rude  but  close  shutters  were  nailed  before  the  others,  and 
then  Arthur  went  himself  into  the  room  and  pushed  a  long 
table,  which  the  picnic  people  had  used  for  their  refresh- 
ments and  the  tramps  for  a  bed,  into  a  corner,  where  one 
sleeping  upon  it  would  be  more  sheltered  from  the  draught. 
All  this  seemed  nonsense  to  Frank,  who  laughingly  sugges- 
ted that  Arthur  should  place  in  it  a  stove  and  a  ton  of  coal 
for  the  benefit  of  his  lodgers.  But  Arthur  cared  little  for 
his  brother's  jokes.  His  natural  kindness  of  heart,  which 
was  always  seeking  another's  good,  had  prompted  him  to 
this  care  for  the  Tramp  House,  in  which  he  felt  a  strange 
interest,  never  dreaming  that  what  he  was  doing  would 
reach  forward  to  the  future  and  influence  not  only  his  life 
but  that  of  many  others. 

The  storm  which  had  raged  so  fiercely  around  the  house 
in  the  park  had  not  spared  the  cottage  in  the  lane,  which 


THE    TRAMP    HOUSE.  89 

rocked  like  a  cradle,  as  gust  after  gust  of  wind  struck  it 
with  a  force  which  made  every  timber  quiver,  and  sent 
Harold  close  to  his  grandmother's  side,  as  he  asked,  trem- 
blingly : 

"Do  you  think  we  shall  be  blown  away?" 

The  rheumatism  from  which  Mrs.  Crawford  had  been 
suffering  in  the  fall  had  troubled  her  more  or  less  during 
the  entire  winter,  and  now,  aggravated  by  a  cold,  it  was 
worse  than  it  had  ever  been  before,  and  on  the  night  of  the 
storm  she  was  suffering  intense  pain,  which  was  only 
relieved  by  the  hot  poultices  which  Harold  made  under  her 
direction  and  applied  to  the  swollen  limb.  This  kept  him 
up  later  than  usual,  and  the  clock  was  striking  eleven 
when  his  grandmother  declared  herself  easier,  and  bade 
him  go  to  bed. 

It  was  at  this  hour  that  Arthur  Tracy  had  fancied  he 
heard  the  cry  for  help,  and  the  snow  was  sweeping  past  the 
cottage  in  great  billows  of  white  when  Harold  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  out  into  the  night.  In  the  summer 
when  the  leaves  were  upon  the  trees  the  old  stone  house 
could  not  be  seen  from  the  cottage,  from  which  it  was  dis- 
tant a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more,  but  in  the  winter  when 
the  trees  were  stripped  of  their  foliage  it  was  plainly  dis- 
cernible, and  as  Harold  glanced  that  way  a  gleam  of  light 
appeared  suddenly,  as  if  the  door  had  been  opened  and  the 
flickering  rays  of  a  candle  had  for  a  moment  shone  out  into 
the  darkness.  Then  it  disappeared,  but  not  until  Harold 
had  cried  out : 

"  Oh,  grandma,  there's  a  light  in  the  Tramp  House  ;  I 
saw  it  plain  as  day.  Somebody  is  in  there." 

"<iod  pity  them,"  was  Mrs.  Crawford's  reply,  though 
she  did  not  quite  credit  Harold's  statement,  or  think  of  it 
again  that  night. 

It  was  late  next  morning  when  Harold  awoke  to  find  the 
sun  shining  into  the  room,  and  all  traces  of  the  terrible 
storm  gone  except  the  snow,  which  lay  in  great  piles 
everywhere  and  came  almost  to  the  window's  edge.  But 
Harold  was  not  afraid  of  snow,  and  soon  had  the  walks 
cleared  around  the  cottage,  and  when,  after  breakfast, 
which  he  prepared  himself,  for  his  grandmother  could  not 
step,  he  was  told  that  a  doctor  must  be  had  and  he  must  go 


90  THE    TRAMP    HOUSE. 

for  him,  he  commenced  his  preparations  at  once  for  the 
long  and  wearisome  walk. 

"Better  go  through  the  park/'  his  grandmother  said  to 
him,  as  he  was  tying  his  warm  comforter  about  his  ears  and 
putting  on  his  mittens.  "  It  is  a  little  farther  that  way, 
but  somebody  has  broken  a  path  by  this  time,  and  the 
cross-road,  which  is  nearer,  must  be  impassable." 

Harold  made  no  reply,  but  remembering  the  light  he 
had  seen  in  the  Tramp  House,  resolved  to  take  the  cross- 
road and  investigate  the  mystery.  Bidding  his  grandmother 
good-bye,  and  telling  her  he  should  be  back  before  she  had 
time  to  miss  him,  he  started  on  his  journey,  and  was  soon 
plunging  through  the  snow,  which,  in  some  places,  was  up 
to  his  armpits,  so  that  his  progress  was  very  slow,  but  by 
kicking  with  his  feet  and  throwing  out  his  arms  like  the 
paddles  of  a  boat,  he  managed  to  get  on  until  he  was  oppo- 
site the  Tramp  House,  which  looked  like  an  immense  snow- 
heap,  so  completely  was  it  covered.  Only  the  chimney  and 
the  slanting  roof  showed  any  semblance  to  a  house  as  Har- 
old made  his  way  toward  it,  still  beating  the  snow  with 
his  arms,  and  thinking  it  was  not  quite  the  fun  he  had 
fancied  it  might  be. 

He  was  close  to  the  house  at  last,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  at  it,  while  a  faint  thrill  of  fear  stirred  in 
his  veins  as  he  remembered  to  have  heard  that  burglars  and 
thieves  sometimes  made  it  their  rendezvous  after  a  night's 
marauding.  What  if  they  were  there  now,  and  should  rush 
upon  him  if  he  ventured  to  disturb  them? 

"  I  don't  believe  I  will  try  it,"  he  thought,  as  he  glanced 
nervously  at  the  door,  which  was  blockaded  by  a  great  bank 
of  snow ;  and  he  was  about  to  retrace  his  steps,  when  a 
sound  met  his  ear  which  made  him  stand  still  and  listen 
until  it  was  repeated  a  second  time. 

Then,  forgeting  both  burglar  and  thief,  he  started  for- 
ward quickly,  and  was  soon  at  the  door,  from  which  he  dug 
away  the  snow  with  a  desperate  energy,  as  if  working  for 
his  life.  For  the  sound  was  the  cry  of  a  little  child,  fright- 
ened and  pleading. 

"Ma-ma!  ma-ma!"  it  seemed  to  say;  and  Harold 
answered,  cheerily : 

"  I  am  coming  as  fast  as  I  can." 

the  crying  ceased,  and  all  wa$  still  inside,  while 


THE    TRAMP    HOUSE.  91 

Harold  worked  on  until  enough  snow  was  cleared  away  to 
allow  of  his  opening  the  door  about  a  foot,  and  through 
this  narrow  opening  he  forced  his  way  into  the  cold,  damp 
room,  where  for  a  moment  he  could  see  nothing  distinctly, 
for  the  sunlight  outside  had  blinded  him,  and  there  was 
but  little  light  inside,  owing  to  the  barred  and  snow-bound 
windows. 

Gradually,  however,  as  he  became  accustomed  to  the 
place,  he  saw  upon  the  long  table  in  the  corner  where 
Arthur  Tracy  had  moved  it  months  before,  what  looked 
like  a  human  form  stretched  at  full  length  and  lying  upon 
its  back,  with  its  white,  stony  face  upturned  to  the  rafters 
above,  and  no  sound  or  motion  to  tell  that  it  still  lived. 

With  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  Harold  sprang  forward 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  pale  forehead  of  the  woman, 
but  started  back  quickly  with  a  cry  of  horror,  for  by  the 
touch  of  the  ice-cold  flesh  he  knew  the  woman  was  dead. 

"Frozen  to  death!"  he  whispered,  with  ashen  lips;  and 
then,  as  something  stirred  under  the  gray  cloak  which 
partly  covered  the  woman,  he  conquered  his  terror  and 
went  forward  again  to  the  table,  over  which  he  bent  curi- 
ously. 

Again  the  cry,  which  was  more  like  "man-nee,"  now 
than  "mamma"  met  his  ear,  and,  stooping  lower,  he  saw 
a  curly  head  nestled  close  to  the  bosom  of  the  woman, 
while  a  little  fat  white  hand  was  clasping  the  neck,  as  if  for 
warmth  and  protection. 

At  this  sight  all  Harold's  fear  vanished,  and,  bending 
down  so  that  his  lips  almost  touched  the  bright,  wavy  hair, 
he  said:  flt-» 

"Poor  little  girl!" — he  felt  instinctively  that  it  was  a 
girl — "poor  little  girl!  come  with  me  away  from  this 
dreadful  place  ;"  and  he  tried  to  lift  up  her  head,  but  she 
drew  it  away  from  him,  and  repeated  the  piteous  cry  of 
"  Mah-nee,  mah-nee  !" 

At  last,  however,  as  Harold  contimied  to  talk  to  her,  the 
cries  ceased,  and,  cautiously  lifting  her  head,  she  turned 
toward  him  a  chubby  face,  and  a  pair  of  soft,  bine  eyes, 
in  which  the  great  tears  were  standing.  Then  her  lips 
began  to  quiver  in  a  grieved  kind  of  way,  as  if  the  horror 
of  the  previous  night  had  stamped  itself  upon  her  tender 
mind  and  she  were  asking  for  sympathy. 


92  THE    TRAMP    HOUSE. 

"Mah-nee  !*  she  said  again,  placing  one  hand  on  the 
cold,  dead  face,  and  stretching  the  other  toward  Harold, 
who  put  out  his  arm  to  take  her. 

But  something  resisted  all  his  efforts,  and  a  closer  in- 
spection showed  him  a  long,  old-fashioned  carpet-bag,  which 
enveloped  her  body  from  her  neck  to  her  feet,  and  into  which 
she  had  evidently  been  put  to  protect  her  from  the  cold. 

"  Not  a  bad  idea  either,"  Harold  said,  as  he  compre- 
hended the  situation  ;  "  and  your  poor  mother  gave  you  the 
most  of  her  cloak,  too,  and  her  shawl,"  he  continued,  as  he 
saw  how  carefully  the  child  had  been  wrapped,  while 
the  mother,  if  it  were  her  mother,  had  paid  for  her  unsel- 
fishness with  her  life. 

"  What  is  your  name,  little  girl  ?"  he  asked. 

The  child,  who  had  been  staring  at  him  while  he  talked 
as  if  he  were  a  lunatic,  made  no  reply  until  he  had  her  in 
his  arms,  when  she,  too,  began  to  talk  in  a  half-frightened 
way.  Then  he  looked  at  her  as  if  she  were  the  lunatic,  for 
never  had  he  heard  such  speech  as  hers. 

' '  I  do  believe  you  are  a  Dutchman,"  he  said,  as  he 
wrapped  both  shawl  and  cloak  around  her  and  started  for 
the  door,  which  he  kicked  against  some  time  in  order  to 
make  an  opening  wide  enough  to  allow  of  his  egress  with 
his  burden. 

When  at  last  they  emerged  from  the  cold,  dark  room 
into  the  bright  sunshine,  the  child  gave  a  great  cry  of 
delight,  and  the  blue  eyes  fairly  danced  with  joy  as  they 
fell  upon  the  dazzling  snow.  Then  she  put  both  arms 
around  Harold's  neck,  and,  nestling  her  face  close  to  his, 
kissed  him  as  fondly  as  if  she  had  known  him  all  her  life, 
while  the  boy  paid  her  back  kiss  after  kiss  as  he  proceeded 
slowly  toward  home. 

The  child  was  heavy,  and  the  bag  and  shawl  made  such 
an  unwieldy  bundle  that  his  progress  was  very  slow,  and  he 
stopped  more  than  once  to  rest  and  take  breath,  and  as 
often  as  lie  stopped  the  blue  eyes  would  look  up  inquiringly 
at  him  with  an  expression  which  made  his  boyish  heart 
beat  faster  as  he  thought  what  pretty  eyes  they  were,  and 
wondered  who  she  was.  Once  he  fell  down,  and  bag  and 
baby  rolled  in  the  snow  ;  but  only  the  vigorous  kicking  of  a 
pair  of  little  legs  inside  the  bag  showed  that  the  child  dis- 
approved of  the  proceeding,  for  she  made  no  sound,  and 


THE    TRAMP   HOUSE.  93 

when  he  picked  her  up  she  brushed  the  snow  from  his  hair, 
and  laughed  as  if  the  thing  had  been  done  for  fun. 

lie  reached  the  cottage  at  last,  and  bursting  into  the 
room  where  his  grandmother  was  sitting  with  her  foot  in  a 
chair,  exclaimed,  as  he  put  down  the  child,  who,  as  she 
was  still  enveloped  in  the  bag,  stood  with  difficulty  : 

"Oh,  grandma,  what  do  you  think  ?  I  did  see  a  light 
in  the  Tramp  House,  and  there  is  somebody  there— a 
woman — dead — frozen  to  death,  with  nothing  over  her,  for 
she  had  given  her  cloak  and  shawl  to  her  little  girl.  I 
went  there.  I  found  her,  and  brought  the  baby  home  in 
the  carpet-bag,  and  now  I  must  go  back  to  the  woman. 
Oh,  it  was  dreadful  to  see  her  white  face,  and  it  is  so  cold 
there  and  dark  ;"  and  as  if  the  horror  of  what  he  had  seen 
had  just  impressed  itself  upon  him,  the  boy  turned  pale  and 
faint,  and,  staggering  to  a  chair,  burst  into  tears. 

Too  much  astonished  to  utter  a  word,  Mrs.  Crawford 
stared  at  him  a  moment  in  a  bewildered  kind  of  way,  and 
then,  when  the  child,  seeing  him  cry,  began  also  to  cry  for 
'•  .Muh-nee,"  and  struggle  in  the  bag,  she  forgot  her  lame 
foot,  on  which  she  had  not  stepped  for  a  week,  and  going 
to  the  little  girl,  released  her,  and  taking  her  upon  her  lap, 
began  to  untie  the  soft  woolen  cloak,  and  to  chafe  the  cold 
lingers,  while  she  questioned  her  grandson. 

Having  recovered  himself  somewhat,  Harold  repeated 
his  story,  and  asked,  with  a  shudder  : 

"  Must  I  go  for  her  alone  ?  I  can't,  I  can't.  I  was  not 
afraid  with  the  baby  there,  but  it  is  so  awful,  and  I  never 
saw  any  one  dead  before." 

"  Go  back  alone  !  Of  course  not  I"  his  grandmother 
replied.  "  But  you  must  go  to  the  park  at  once  and  tell 
them  ;  go  as  fast  as  you  can.  She  may  not  be  dead." 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  Harold  answered,  decidedly.  "  I  touched 
her  face,  and  nothing  alive  could  feel  like  that." 

He  was  buttoning  his  overcoat  preparatory  to  a  fresh 
start,  but  before  he  went  he  kissed  the  little  girl,  who  was 
sitting  on  his  grandmother's  lap,  and  who,  as  she  saw  him 
leaving  her,  began  to  cry  for  him,  and  to  utter  curious 
sT.imls  unintelligible  to  them  both.  But  Harold  brought 
her  a  piece  of  bread,  whicn  she  began  to  devour  ravenously, 
and  then  he  stepped  quietly  out  and  was  soon  breaking 
through  the  drifts  which  lay  between  the  cottage  and  the 
park. 


94  THE    WOMAN. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  WOMAN. 

THEY  had  slept  later  than  usual  at  the  park  house  that 
morning,  and  Frank  and  his  family  were  just  sitting 
down  to  breakfast,  when  John,  with  a  white,  scared  face, 
looked  in  and  said  : 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Tracy, — but  something  dreadful  has 
happened.  There's  a  woman  frozen  to  death  in  the  Tramp 
House,  with  a  baby,  and  Harold  Hastings  found  them ;  he 
is  here,  sir  ;  he  will  tell  you  himself  ;"  and  he  went  for  the 
boy,  who  soon  entered  the  room,  followed  by  every  servant 
in  the  house. 

Harold  had  came  upon  John  in  the  stable,  and  sinking 
down  exhausted  upon  the  hay,  had  told  his  story,  while  the 
man  listened  terror-stricken  and  open-mouthed.  Then, 
seeing  how  weak  and  tired  Harold  seemed,  and  how  he 
sank  back  upon  the  hay  when  he  attempted  to  rise,  he  took 
him  in  his  arms,  and  carrying  him  to  the  kitchen,  left  him 
there  while  he  went  with  the  news  to  his  master. 

"A  woman  dead  in  the  Tramp  House,  and  a  baby  !" 
Frank  exclaimed,  and  for  an  instant  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
dying,  for  there  flashed  over  him  a  conviction  that  the 
woman  had  come  in  the  train  the  previous  night,  and  that 
it  was  her  cry  for  help  which  had  been  borne  to  him  on  the 
winds,  and  to  which  he  had  paid  no  heed. 

"  Are  you  sick  ?  Are  you  going  to  faint  ?"  his  wife  said 
to  him,  as  she  saw  how  white  he  grew,  as  Harold  related 
the  particulars  of  his  finding  the  woman  and  the  child. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  faint ;  but  it  makes  me  sick  and 
shaky  to  think  of  a  woman  freezing  to  death  so  near  us  that 
if  she  had  cried  for  help  we  might  perhaps  have  heard  her," 
Frank  replied. 

Then,  turning  to  Harold,  he  continued : 

"  How  did  she  look  ?  Was  she  young  ?  Was  she  pretty  ? 
Was  she  dark  or  fair  ?" 

He  almost  gasped  the  last  word,  as  if  it  choked  him,  and 


THE    WOMAN.  95 

no  one  guessed  how  anxiously  he  waited  for  Harold's 
answer. 

"I  don't  know  ;  it  was  so  dark  in  there,  and  cold,  and  I 
was  afraid  some  of  the  time,  and  in  a  hurry.  I  only  know 
that  her  nose  was  long  and  large,  for  I  touched  it  when  I 
was  trying  to  get  at  the  little  girl,  and  it  was  so  cold — oh, 
oh  !" 

And  Harold  shuddered  as  if  he  still  felt  the  icy  touch  of 
the  dead. 

"A  long  nose  and  a  large  one,"  Frank  said,  involuntar- 
ily, while  a  sigh  of  relief  escaped  him  as  he  remembered 
that  the  nose  of  the  picture  in  his  brother's  room  was 
neither  long  nor  large. 

Still  Harold  might  be  mistaken,  and  though  he  had  no 
good  cause  for  believing  that  the  woman  lying  dead  in  the 
Tramp  House  was  Gretchen,  there  was  a  horrible  feeling  in 
his  heart,  while  a  lump  came  into  his  throat  and  affected 
his  speech,  which  was  thick  and  indistinct,  as  he  rose  from 
his  chair  at  last  and  said  to  John: 

"We  have  no  time  to  lose.  Hitch  the  horses  to  the 
long  sleigh  as  quick  as  you  can.  We  must  go  to  the  Tramp 
House  after  the  woman,  and  send  to  the  village  for  a  doctor, 
and  telegraph  to  Springfield  for  the  coroner.  I  suppose 
there  must  be  an  inquest ;  and,  Dolly,  see  that  a  room  is 
prepared  for  the  body." 

"Oh,  Frank,  must  it  come  here?  Why  not  take  it  to 
the  cottage?  The  child  is  there."  Mrs.  Tracy  said. 

"I  tell  you  that  woman  must  come  here,"  was  Frank's 
decided  reply,  as  he  began  to  make  himself  ready  for  the 
ride. 

"  Don't  tell  Arthur  yet,"  he  said,  as  he  left  the  house 
and  took  his  seat  in  the  sleigh,  which  was  soon  plowing  its 
way  through  the  snow  banks  in  the  direction  of  the  Tramp 
House. 

It  was  Harold  who  acted  as  master  of  ceremonies,  for 
John  was  nervous  and  hung  back  from  the  half  opened 
door,  while  Frank  was  too  much  unstrung  to  know  just 
what  he  was  doing  or  saying,  as  he  squeezed  through  the 
narrow  space  and  then  stood  for  a  moment,  snow-blind  and 
dizzy,  in  the  cheerless  room. 

Harold  was  not  afraid  now.  He  had  been  there  before, 
had  seen  and  touched  the  white  face  of  the  corpse,  and  he 


96  THE    WOMAN. 

went  fearlessly  up  to  it,  followed  by  Frank,  who  could 
scarcely  stand,  and  who  laid  his  hand  for  support  on  Har- 
old's shoulder,  and  then  turned  curiously  and  eagerly 
toward  the  woman. 

John  had  lingered  outside,  shoveling  the  snow  from  the 
door,  which  he  succeeded  in  opening  wide,  so  that  the  full, 
broad  sunlight  fell  upon  the  face,  which  was  neither  young, 
nor  pretty,  nor  fair,  while  the  hair  was  black  as  night. 

Frank  noted  all  these  points  at  a  glance,  and  could 
have  shouted  aloud  for  joy,  so  great  was  the  revulsion  of 
his  feelings.  It  was  not  Gretchen  lying  there  before  him, 
and  he  was  not  a  murderer,  as  he  had  accused  himself  of 
being,  for  this  woman  did  not  come  by  the  train;  she  had 
no  connection  with  Tracy  Park;  she  was  going  somewhere 
else — to  Collingwood,  perhaps — when  overcome  by  the 
storm  and  the  cold,  she  had  sought  shelter  for  the  night  in 
this  wretched  place. 

"  I  suppose  the  proper  thing  to  do  is  to  leave  her  here 
till  the  coroner  can  see  her,"  he  said  to  John ;  "  but  no 
train  can  get  through  from  Springfield  to-day,  I  am  sure, 
and  I  shall  have  her  taken  to  the  park.  Bring  me  the 
blankets  from  the  sleigh. " 

He  was  very  collected  now,  for  a  great  load  was  lifted 
from  his  mind. 

"  Had  she  nothing  with  her  ?  nothing  to  cover  her  ?"  he 
asked,  as  they  proceeded  to  wrap  her  in  the  warm  blankets, 
which,  had  they  sooner  come,  would  have  saved  her  life. 

Harold  told  him  again  of  the  carpet-bag,  and  the  cloak, 
and  the  shawl,  which  had  covered  the  child,  and  added  : 
"  That's  all  ;  there  don't  seem  to  be  anything  else.  Oh, 
what's  this  ? "  and  stooping  down,  he  picked  up  some  hard 
substance  which  he  had  kicked  against  the  table. 

It  proved  to  be  one  of  those  olive-wood  candle  sticks,  so 
convenient  in  traveling,  as  when  not  in  use,  they  can  be 
made  into  a  small  round  box  or  ball,  and  take  but  little 
room.  It  contained  the  remains  of  a  wax  candle,  which 
had  burned  down  into  the  socket  and  then  gone  out.  .Near 
by,  upon  the  floor,  was  a  tiny  box  of  matches,  with  two  or 
three  charred  ones  among  them. 

"  The  poor  woman  must  have  had  a  light  for  at  least 
a  portion  of  the  time,"  Frank  said,  as  he  picked  up  the 
box. 


THE    WO.UAtf.  97 

"  She  had,  I  know  she  had,"  Harold  cried,  excitedly  ; 
"for  I  saw  it  and  told  grandma  so.  It  was  like  she  had 
opened  the  door  and  let  out  a  big  blaze,  and  then  every- 
thing was  dark,  as  if  the  door  was  shut  or  the  wind  had 
blown  the  candle  out." 

"  What  time  was  that,  do  you  think?"  Frank  asked. 

"  It  must  have  been  about  eleven,"  Harold  replied, 
"  for  I  remember  hearing  the  clock  strike  and  grandma's 
saying  I  must  go  to  bed,  it  was  so  late.  I  was  up  with 
her  because  her  foot  was  so  bad,  and  I  warmed  the  poul- 
tices." 

Frank  groaned  aloud,  unmindful  of  the  boy  looking  so 
curiously  at  him,  for  that  was  the  time  when  he  had  heard 
the  sound  like  a  human  voice  in  distress.  He  had  thought 
it  a  fancy  then  communicated  to  him  by  his  brother's  ner- 
vousness, but  now  he  was  certain  it  must  have  been  the 
stranger  calling  through  the  storm,  in  the  vain  hope  that 
somebody  would  hear  and  come.  Somebody  had  heard, 
but  no  one  had  come  ;  and  so  in  the  cold  and  the  darkness, 
with  the  snow  sifting  through  every  crevice  and  blowing 
down  the  wide  chimney  to  the  hearth,  where  it  made  a 
drift  like  a  grave,  she  had  battled  for  her  own  life  and 
that  of  the  child  beside  her,  saving  the  latter,  but  losing 
tier  own. 

"  If  I  had  only  believed  it  was  a  cry,"  Frank  thought, 
ind  as  he  wrapped  the  body  in  the  blankets  and  buffalo 
robe  as  tenderly  and  reverently  as  if  the  stiffened  limbs  had 
belonged  to  his  mother,  he  saw  as  distinctly  before  him  as 
if  painted  upon  canvas,  the  angry  sky,  the  half-open  door, 
through  which  the  sleet  was  driving,  the  light  behind,  and 
the  frantic,  freezing  woman,  screaming  for  help,  while 
only  the  winds  made  answer,  and  the  pitiless  storm  raged 
on. 

This  was  the  picture  which  Frank  was  destined  to  see 
in  his  dreams  for  many  and  many  a  night,  until  the  mystery 
lived  concerning  the  woman  whom  they  carried  ito  the 
sleigh,  which  was  driven  to  the  park  house,  where,  within 
i  or  twenty  minutes,  a  crowd  of  anxious,  curious  peo- 
ple gathered.     The  messenger  sent  to  town  had  done  his 
work  rapidly  and  thoroughly,  and  half  the  villagers  who 
heard  of  the  tragedy  enacted  ;if  their  very  doors,  started  at 
once  for  Tracy  Park.     The  buy  had  stopped  at  the  station 


98  THE    WOMAN. 

and  told  his  story  there,  making  the  baggage-master  feel  as 
if  he,  too,  were  a  murderer,  or  at  least  an  accessory. 

"If  1  had  only  gone  after  that  woman/'  he  said,  as  he 
told  of  the  stranger  who  had  come  on  the  train  and  gotten 
off  on  the  side  of  the  car  farthest  from  the  depot — "  if  I 
had  gone  after  her  and  made  her  take  a  conveyance  to 
Avhere  she  was  going,  this  would  not  have  happened  ;  but 
it  was  so  all-fired  cold,  and  the  wind  was  yelling  so,  and 
she  walked  off  so  fast,  as  if  she  knew  her  own  business. 
So  I  just  minded  mine,  or  rather  I  didn't,  for  I  never  even 
see  the  box,  or  trunk,  which  was  pitched  out  helter-skelter, 
and  which  I  found  this  morning,  all  covered  up  with  snow. 
'It  is  hers,  of  course,  and  1  shall  send  it  right  over  there,  a? 
it  may  tell  who  the  poor  critter  was." 

This  trunk,  which  was  little  more  than  a  strong  wooden 
box,  with  two  double  locks  upon  it,  was  still  furthei 
secured  by  a  bit  of  rope  wound  twice  around  it,  and  tied  in 
a  hard  knot.  There  was  nothing  upon  it  to  tell  whose  it 
was,  or  whence  it  came,  except  the  name  of  a  German 
steamer,  on  which  its  owner  had  probably  crossed  the 
ocean,  and  the  significant  word  "Hold,"  showing  that  it 
had  not  been  used  in  the  state-room.  It  had  been  checked 
at  the  Grand  Central  depot  in  New  York  for  Shannondale, 
and  the  check  was  still  attached  to  the  iron  handle  when  it 
was  put  down  in  the  kitchen  at  Tracy  Park,  where  tho 
utmost  excitement  prevailed,  the  servants  huddling  together 
with  scared  faces,  and  talking  in  whispers  of  the  terrible 
thing  which  had  happened,  while  Mrs.  Tracy  and  the 
housekeeper,  scarcely  less  excited  than  the  servants,  gave 
their  attention  to  the  dead. 

•  At  the  end  of  the  rear  hall  was  a  small  room,  where 
Frank  sometimes  received  business  calls  when  at  home,  and 
there  they  laid  the  body,  after  the  physician,  who  had 
arrived,  declared  that  life  had  been  extinct  for  many 
hours. 

Seen  in  the  full  daylight,  she  seemed  to  be  at  least 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  her  features,  though  not  un- 
pleasing,  were  coarse  and  large,  especially  the  nose.  Her 
hair  was  black,  her  complexion  dark,  and  the  hands,  which 
lay  folded  upon  her  bosom,  showed  marks  of  toil,  for  they 
were  rough  and  unshapely.  Her  Avoolen  dress  of  grayish 
blue  was  short  and  scant ;  her  knit  stockings  were  black 


WOMAN.  99 

and  thick,  and  her  leather  shoes  were  designed  for  use 
rather  than  ornament.  A  wide  white  apron  was  tied 
around  her  waist,  and  she  wore  a  small  black  and  white 
plaided  shawl  pinned  about  her  neck. 

And  there  she  lay,  helpless  and  defenseless  against  the 
curious  eyes  bent  upon  her  and  the  remarks  concerning  her, 
as  one  after  another  of  the  villagers  came  in  to  look  at  her 
and  speculate  as  to  who  she  was,  or  how  she  came  in  the 
Tramp  House. 

Among  the  crowd  was  Mr.  St.  Claire,  who  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  she  was  a  Frenchwoman  of  the  lower  class, 
and  asked  if  nothing  had  been  found  with  her.  except  the 
clothes  she  wore.  Harold  told  him  of  the  shawl,  and  cloak, 
and  carpet-bag  which  he  had  carried  with  the  child  to  the 
cottage. 

"  Yes,  there  is  something  more — her  trunk,"  chimed  in 
the  baggage-master,  who  had  just  entered  the  room,  trem- 
bling and  breathless. 

"  Her  trunk  !  Then  she  did  come  in  the  cars  ?"  Frank 
said,  his  hands  dropping  helplessly  at  his  side,  and  his  lips 
growing  pale,  as  the  man  replied  : 

"Yes;  last  night,  on  the  quarter-past-six  from  New 
York  ;  and,  what  is  curi's,  she  got  out  on  the  side  away 
from  the  depot,  and  I  never  seen  her  till  the  cars  went  on, 
when  she  was  lookin'  at  a  paper,  and  the  child  cryin'  at  her 
feet.  I  spoke  to  her,  but  she  didn't  answer,  and  snatching 
up  the  child,  she  hurried  off,  almost  on  a  run.  It  was 
storming  so  I  didn't  see  her  trunk  till  this  mornin',  when  I 
found  it  on  the  platform.  I  wish  I  had  gone  after  her  and 
made  her  take  a  sleigh.  If  I  had  she  wouldn't  now  have 
been  dead,  and,  I  swow,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  killed  her.  I 
wonder  why  under  the  sun  she  turned  into  the  lots,  unless 
she  was  going  to  Collingwood " 

"Or  Tracy  Park,"  Frank  said,  involuntarily. 

"  Were  you  expecting  any  one  ?"  Mr.  St.  Claire  asked  ; 
and  sinking  into  a  chair,  Frank  replied  : 

"  ISTo,  I  was  not ;  but  Arthur,  who  has  been  worse  than 
usual  for  a  few  days,  has  again  a  fancy  that  Gretchen  is 
coming.  He  says  now  that  she  was  not  in  the  ship  with 
him,  but  that  he  has  written  her  to  join  him  here,  and  yes- 
terday he  took  it  into  his  head  that  she  would  be  here  last 
night,  and  insisted  that  the  carriage  be  sent  to  meet  her ; 


100  Tim   WOMAtf. 

but  John  had  hurt  his  back,  and  as  I  had  no  faith  in  her 
coming,  he  didn't  go.  I  wish  he  had  ;  it  might  have  saved 
this  woman's  life,  although  she  is  not  Gretchen." 

Frank  had  made  his  confession,  except  so  far  as  deceiv- 
ing his  brother  was  concerned,  and  he  felt  his  mind  eased  a 
little,  though  there  was  still  a  lump  in  his  throat,  and  a 
feeling  of  disquiet  in  his  heart,  with  a  wish  that  the  dead 
woman  had  never  crossed  his  path,  and  a  conviction  that  he 
had  not  yet  seen  the  worst  of  it. 

Mr.  St.  Claire  looked  at  him  thoughtfully  a  moment, 
and  then  said  : 

"  I  should  not  accuse  myself  too  much.  You  couldn't 
know  that  any  one  would  be  there,  and  this  woman  cer- 
tainly is  not  the  Gretchen  of  whom  your  brother  talks  so 
much.  Has  he  seen  her  ?  Does  he  know  of  the  acci- 
dent r 

"  I  have  not  told  him  yet.  He  is  not  feeling  well 
to-day.  Charles  says  he  is  still  in  bed,"  was  Frank's  reply. 

"  We  may  find  something  in  her  trunk,"  Mr.  St.  Claire 
continued,  "which  will  give  us  a  clew  to  her  history. 
Where  do  you  suppose  she  kept  her  key  ?" 

Xo  one  volunteered  an  answer,  until  Harold  suggested 
-,hat  if  she  had  a  pocket  it  was  probably  there,  when  half  a 
dozen  hands  or  more  at  once  felt  for  the  pocket,  which  was 
-found  at  last,  and  proved  to  be  one  of  great  capacity,  and 
to  contain  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  contents  :  A  purse,  in 
which  were  two  or  three  small  German  coins,  an  English 
sovereign,  and  a  five-dollar  greenback  ;  two  handkerchiefs, 
one  soiled  and  coarse,  bearing  in  German  text  the  initials 
"  X.  B.,"  the  other  small  and  fine,  bearing  the  initial  "3." 
also  in  German  text ;  a  pair  of  scissors,  a  thimble,  a  small 
needle-case,  a  child's  toy,  a  worn  picture-book,  printed  in 
Leipsic,  a  box  of  pills,  some  peanuts,  some  cloves,  a  piece 
of  candy,  a  seed  cake,  a  pocket  comb,  half  a  biscuit ;  and, 
at  the  very  bottom,  the  brass  check  whose  number  corres- 
ponded with  that  upon  the  trunk  ;  also  a  ring  to  which 
were  attached  three  keys,  one  belonging  to  the  trunk, 
another  evidently  to  the  carpet-bag,  while  the  third,  which 
was  very  small  and  straight,  must  have  been  used  for  fas- 
tening some  box  or  dressing-case. 

It  was  Mr.  St.  Claire  who  opened  the  trunk,  from  which 
one  of  the  servants  had  removed  the  rope,  while  Frank  sat 


THE    WOMAN.  101 

near,  watching  anxiously  as  article  after  article  was  taken 
out  and  examined,  but  afforded  no  satisfaction  whatever  or 
gave  any  sign  by  which  the  stranger  might  be  traced. 

There  was  a  black  alpaca  dress  and  a  few  garments, 
which  must  have  belonged  to  the  woman.  Some  of  them 
bore  the  initials  "N.  B.,"  some  were  without  a  mark,  and 
all  were  cheap  and  plain,  like  the  clothes  of  a  servant. 
The  child's  dresses  were  of  a  better  quality,  and  one  em- 
broidered petticoat  bore  the  name  "Jerrine,"  while  the 
letter  "  J."  was  upon  them  all,  except  a  towel  of  the  finest 
linen,  on  one  corner  of  which  was  the  letter  "  M."  worked 
with  colored  floss. 

"  Jerrine  !"  Mr.  St.  Claire  repeated.  "That  is  a  French 
name,  and  a  pretty  one.  It  is  the  child's,  of  course." 

To  this  no  one  replied,  and  he  continued  his  examina- 
tion of  the  trunk  until  it  was  quite  empty. 

"  That  is  all,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  disappointment  ;  and 
Frank,  who  had  been  sitting  by  and  holding  some  of  the 
things  in  his  lap  as  they  were  taken  from  the  trunk, 
answered,  faintly  : 

"No,  here  is  a  book.  It  was  in  a  handkerchief,"  and 
he  held  up  what  proved  to  be  a  German  Bible  ;  but  he  did 
not  tell  of  the  photograph  he  had  found,  and  thrust  into 
his  pocket  when  no  one  was  looking  at  him. 

It  had  slipped  from  the  leaves  of  the  Bible,  and  at  sight 
of  the  face,  of  which  he  only  had  a  glimpse,  every  drop  of 
blood  seemed  to  leave  his  heart  and  come  surging  to  his 
brain,  making  him  so  giddy  and  wild  that  he  did  not  realize 
what  he  was  doing  when  he  hid  away  the  picture  until  he 
could  examine  it  by  himself.  Once  in  his  pocket  he  dared 
sot  take  it  out,  although  he  raised  his  hand  two  or  three 
times  to  do  so,  but  was  as  often  deterred  by  the  thought 
that  everybody  would  think  that  he  had  intended  to  hide 
it  and  suspect  his  motive.  So  he  kept  quiet  and  saw  them 
examine  the  book,  the  blank  page  of  which  had  been  torn 
half  off,  leaving  only  the  last  three  letters  of  what  must 

have  been  the  owner's  name,  " ich  " — that  was  all,' and 

might  as  well  not  have  been  there,  for  any  light  it  shed 
upon  the  matter. 

Opening  the  book  by  chance  at  1st  Corinthians,  2d 
chapter,  Mr.  St.  Claire,  who  could  read  German  much 


102  THE    WOMAN. 

better  than  lie  could  speak  it,  saw  pencil-marks  around  the 
9th  verse,  and  read  aloud  : 

"  Eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered 
into  the  heart  of  man  the  things  which  God  hath  prepared 
for  them  that  love  him." 

On  the  margin  opposite  this  verse  was  written  in  a  girl- 
ish hand : 

"  Think  of  me  as  there  when  you  read  this,  and  do  not 
be  sorry." 

A  lock  of  soft,  golden  hair,  which  might  have  been  cut 
from  a  baby's  head,  and  a  few  faded  flowers  were  tied  with 
a  bit  of  thread,  and  lying  between  the  leaves.  And  except 
that  the  book  was  full  of  marked  passages,  chiefly  comfort- 
ing and  consolatory,  there  was  nothing  more  to  indicate  the 
character  of  the  owner. 

"  If  this  Bible  were  hers,  she  was  a  good  woman,"  Mr. 
St.  Claire  said,  laying  his  hand  reverently  upon  the  fore- 
head of  the  dead,  while  Frank,  who  saw  another  meaning 
between  the  lines,  shook  like  one  in  an  ague  fit,  for  he  did 
not  believe  that  those  hands,  so  pulseless  and  cold,  had  ever 
traced  the  words  "Think  of  me  as  there  when  you  read  this 
and  do  not  be  sorry."  She  who  wrote  them  might  be  and 
probably  was  dead,  but  her  grave  was  far  away,  and  the 
fact  did  not  at  all  change  the  duty  which  he  owed  to  her 
and  him  for  whom  the  message  was  intended. 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  Arthur,  and  how  shall  I  tell  him,^ 
he  was  wondering  to  himself,  when  Mr.  St.  Claire  roused 
him  by  saying : 

"  You  seem  greatly  unstrung  by  what  has  happened.  I 
never  saw  you  look  so  ill." 

"  Yes,  I  feel  as  if  1  had  murdered  her  by  not  sending  John 
to  the  station,"  Frank  stammered,  glad  to  offer  this  as  an 
excuse  for  his  manner,  which  he  knew  was  strange  and 
unnatural. 

"You  are  too  sensitive  altogether.  John  might  not 
have  seen  her,  she  hurried  off  so  fast,  and  you  had  no  par- 
ticular reason  to  think  she  was  coming  here,"  Mr.  St.  Claire 
said,  adding :  "  We'd  better  leave  her  now,  We  can  do 


THE    WOMAN.  103 

nothing  more  until  the  coroner  comes,  which  will  hardly  be 
to-day.  I  hear  the  roads  are  all  blocked  and  impassable. 
Let  everything  remain  in  the  trunk  where  he  can  see 
them." 

Mechanically  Mrs.  Tracy,  who  was  present,  put  the 
differc-nt  articles  into  the  trunk,  leaving  the  Bible  on  the 
top,  and  then  followed  her  husband  from  the  room.  She 
knew  there  was  more  affecting  him  than  the  fact  that  a 
dead  woman  was  in  the  house,  or  that  he  had  not  sent  John 
to  the  station.  But  what  it  was  she  could  not  guess,  unless, 
and  she,  too,  felt  faint  and  giddy  for  a  moment  as  a  new 
idea  entered  her  head. 

"  Frank,"  she  said  to  him  when  they  were  alone  for  a 
few  moments,  "Arthur  hud  a  fancy  that  Gretchen  was 
coming  last  night.  You  do  not  think  this  woman  is  she  ?  " 

"Gretchen?  No.  Don't  be  a  fool,  Dolly.  Gretchen 
is  fair  aud  young,  and  the  woman  is  old  and  black  as  the 
ace  of  spades.  Gretchen!  No,  indeed!" 

Just  then  Charles  came  to  the  room  and  said  that  his 
master  was  very  much  excited  and  wished  to  know  the  rea- 
son for  so  much  commotion  in  the  house,  and  why  so  many 
people  were  coming  and  going  down  and  up  the  avenue. 

"  I  thought  it  better  that  you  should  tell  him,"  Charles 
added,  and  with  a  sinking  heart  Frank  started  for  his 
brother's  room. 

lie  had  not  seen  him  before  that  day,  and  now  as  he 
looked  at  him  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  grown  older 
since  the  previous  night,  for  there  were  lines  about  his 
mouth,  and  his  face  was  very  thin  and  pale.  But  his  eyes 
were  unusually  bright,  and  his  voice  rang  out  clear  as  a 
bell  as  he  said: 

"  What  is  it,  Frank?  What  has  happened  that  so  many 
people  are  coming  here,  banging  doors  and  talking  so  loud 
that  I  heard  them  here  in  my  room,  but  could  not  distin- 
guish what  they  said.  What's  the  matter?  Any  one  hurt 
or  dead  ?" 

He  put  the  question  direct,  and  Frank  gave  a  direct 
reply. 

"  Yes,  a  woman  was  found  frozen  to  death  in  the  Tramp 
House  this  morning,  and  was  brought  here.  She  is  lying 
in  the  office  at  the  end  of  the  back  hall." 

"A  woman  frozen  to  death  in  the  Tramp  House!" 


104  THE    WOMAN. 

Arthur  repeated.  "  Then  I  did  hear  a  cry.  Oh,  Frank, 
who  is  she?  Whore  did  she  come  from?" 

"  We  do  not  know  who  she  is,  or  where  she  came  from!" 
Frank  replied.  Mr.  St.  Claire  thinks  she  is  French. 
There  is  nothing  about  her  person  to  identify  her,  but  I 
would  like  you  to  see  her,  and — and" — 

"I  see  her!  Why  should  I  see  her,  and  shock  my 
nerves  more  than  they  are  already  shocked?"  Arthur  said, 
with  a  decided  shake  of  his  head. 

"  But  you  must  see  her,"  Frank  continued.  "  Perhaps 
you  know  her.  She  came  last  night.  She" — 

Before  he  could  utter  another  word  Arthur  was  at 
his  side,  and  seizing  him  by  the  shoulder  with  the  grip  of  a 
giant,  demanded,  fiercely: 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  her  coming  last  night?  How 
did  she  come  ?  Not  by  train,  for  John  was  there.  Frank, 
there  is  something  you  are  keeping  back.  I  know  it  by 
your  face.  Tell  me  the  truth.  Is  it  Gretchen  dead  in  this 
house  ?  " 

"  No,"  Frank  answered,  huskily.  "  It  is  not  Gretchen, 
if  that  picture  is  like  her,  for  this  woman  is  very  dark  and 
old,  and  besides  that,  has  Gretchen  a  child?" 

For  an  instant  Arthur  stood  looking  at  him,  or  rather 
at  the  space  beyond  him,  as  if  trying  to  recall  something 
too  distant  or  too  shadowy  to  assume  any  tangible  form ; 
then  bursting  into  a  laugh,  he  said  : 

"Gretchen  a  child!  That  is  the  best  joke  I  have 
heard.  How  should  Gretchen  have  a  child?  She  is  little 
more  than  one  herself,  or  was  when  I  saw  her  last.  No, 
Gretchen  has  no  child.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"Because"  Frank  replied,  "  there  was  a  little  girl  found 
in  the  Tramp  House  with  this  woman.  She  is  at  the  cot- 
tage where  Harold  carried  her.  He  found  the  woman  this 
morning.  Will  you  see  her  now  ?  " 

Arthur  answered  "no,"  decidedly,  and  then  Frank, 
who  knew  that  he  should  never  again  know  peace  of  mind 
if  his  brother  did  not  see  her,  summoned  all  his  courage, 
and  said : 

"Arthur  you  must.  I  have  not  told  you  all.  This 
woman  did  come  by  train  from  New  York." 

"Then  why  did  not  John  see  her?"  interrupted 
Arthur. 


THE    WOMAN.  105 

"He  was  not  there,"  Frank  replied.  "Forgive  me, 
Arthur.  I  did  not  send  him  as  you  thought.  It  was  so 
cold  and  stormy,  and  I  had  no  faith  in  your  presentiments, 
and  so — so  " — 

"And  so  you  lied  to  me,  and  I  will  never  trust  you 
again  as  long  as  I  live,  and  if  this  had  been  Gretchen,  I 
would  kill  you,  where  you  stand  ! "  Arthur  hissed  in  a 
whisper,  more  terrible  to  hear  than  louder  tones  would 
have  been.  "  Yes,  I  will  see  this  woman  whose  death  lies 
at  3'our  door/'  he  continued,  with  a  gesture  that  Frank 
should  precede  him. 

Arthur  was  very  calm,  and  collected,  and  stern,  as  he 
followed  to  the  office  where  the  body  lay,  covered  now 
from  view,  but  showing  terribly  distinct  through  the  linen 
sheet  folded  over  it. 

"Remove  the  covering,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  a  mas- 
ter to  his  slave,  and  Frank  obeyed. 

Then  bending  close  to  the  stiffened  form,  Arthur  ex- 
amined the  face  minutely,  while  Frank  looked  on  alter- 
nating between  hope  and  dread,  the  former  of  which 
triumphed  as  his  brother  said,  quietly  : 

"  Yes,  she  is  French  ;  but  I  do  not  know  her.  I  never 
saw  her  before.  Had  she  nothing  with,  her  to  tell  who  she 
was  ?" 

His  mood  had  passed,  and  Frank  did  not  fear  him  now. 

"She  had  a  trunk,"  he  replied.  "Here  it  is,  with  her 
clothes,  and  the  child's,  and — a  Bible." 

He  said  the  last  slowly,  and,  taking  up  the  book,  opened 
it  as  far  as  possible  from  the  writing  on  the  margin,  which 
might  or  might  not  be  dangerous. 

"It  is  a  German  Bible,"  he  continued,  and  then  Arthur 
took  it  quickly  from  him  as  if  it  had  been  a  long-lost  friend, 
turning  the  worn  pages  rapidly,  but  failing  to  discover  the 
marked  passage  and  the  message  for  some  one. 

The  lock  of  hair  and  the  faded  flowers  caught  his  atten- 
tion, and  his  breath  came  hard  and  pantingly,  as  for  a 
moment  he  held  the  little  golden  tress  in  his  hand. 

"  This  must  be  her  child's  hair.  You  know  I  told  you 
there  was  a  little  girl  found  with  her.  Would  you  like  to 
see  her  ?"  Frank  said. 

"  No,  no  !"  Arthur  answered  hastily.     "  Let  her  stay 
5* 


106  THE    WOMAN. 

where  she  is,  I  don't  like  children,  as  a  rule.     You  know  I 
can't  abide  the  noise  yours  sometimes  make." 

He  was  leaving  the  room  with  the  Bible  in  his  hand, 
but  Frank  could  not  suffer  that,  and  he  said  : 

"  I  suppose  all  these  things  must  stay  here  till  the 
coronor  sees  them  ;  so  I  will  put  the  Bible  where  I  found 
it." 

Arthur  gave  it  up  readily  enough,  and  then  as  he 
reached  the  door,  looked  back,  and  said  : 

"  If  forty  coroners  and  undertakers  come  on  this  busi- 
ness, don't  bother  me  any  more.  My  head  buzzes  like  a 
bee-hive.  See  that  everything  is  done  decently  for  the  poor 
woman,  and  don't  let  the  town  bury  her.  Do  it  yourself, 
and  send  the  bill  to  me.  There  is  room  enough  in  the 
Tracy  lot ;  put  her  in  a  corner." 

"  Yes,"  Frank  answered,  standing  in  the  open  door  and 
watching  him  as  he  went  slowly  down  the  long  hall,  and 
until  he  heard  him  going  up  stairs. 

Then  locking  the  door,  which  shut  him  in  with  the 
dead,  he  took  the  photograph  from  his  pocket  and  examined 
it  minutely,  feeling  no  shadow  of  doubt  in  his  heart  that  it 
was  Gretchen — if  the  picture  in  the  window  was  like  her. 
It  was  the  same  face,  the  same  sweet  mouth  and  sunny  blue 
eyes,  with  curls  of  reddish-golden  hair  shading  the  low 
brow.  The  dress  was  different  and  more  in  accordance 
with  that  of  a  girl  who  belonged  to  the  middle  class,  but 
this  counted  for  nothing,  and  Frank  felt  himself  a  thief, 
and  a  liar,  and  a  murderer  as  he  stood  looking  at  the  lovely 
face  and  debating  what  he  should  do. 

Turning  it  over  he  saw  on  the  back  a  word  traced  in 
English  letters,  in  a  very  uncertain,  scrawling  hand,  as  if 
it  were  the  writer's  first  attempt  at  English.  Spelling  it 
letter  by  letter  he  made  out  "  Wiesbaden,"  and  knew  it  was 
some  German  town.  Did  Gretchen  live  there,  he  wondered, 
and  how  could  he  find  out,  and  what  should  he  do  ?  He  had 
not  yet  seen  the  child  at  the  cottage,  but  from  some  things 
Harold  said,  he  knew  she  was  more  like  this  picture  than 
like  the  dead  woman,  and  he  felt  sure  that  he  ought  to 
show  Arthur  the  photograph,  and  tell  him  his  suspicions. 

Frank  was  not  a  bad  man,  nor  a  hard-hearted  man,  but 
he  was  ambitious  and  weak.  He  had  enjoyed  money,  and 
ease,  and  position  long  enough  to  make  him  unwilling  to 


THE    WOMAN.  107 

part  with  them  now,  while  for  his  children  he  was  moro 
ambitious  than  for  himself.  To  see  Tom  master  of  Tracy 
Park  was  the  great  desire  of  his  life,  and  this  could  not  be, 
if  what  he  feared  were  proved  true. 

"  I  will  see  the  child  before  I  decide  what  to  do,"  he 
thought.  "  I  can  never  know  anything  for  certain,  and  I 
should  be  a  fool  to  give  up  all  my  children's  interests  for  an 
idea  which  may  have  no  foundation.  Arthur  does  not 
know  half  the  time  what  he  is  saying,  and  might  not  tell 
the  truth  about  Gretchen.  She  may  not  have  been  his 
wife.  On  the  whole,  I  do  not  believe  she  was.  He  would 
never  have  left  her  if  she  had  been,  and  if  so,  this  child,  if 
she  is  Gretchen's,  has  no  right  to  come  between  me  and 
mine.  No,  I  shall  wait  a  little  while  and  think,  though  in 
the  end  I  mean  to  do  right." 

With  these  specious  arguments  Frank  tried  to  quiet  his 
conscience,  but  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  Satan  had 
possession  of  him,  and  as  he  hurried  through  the  hall  he 
said  aloud,  as  if  speaking  -to  some  one  : 

"  Go  away — go  away  !  I  shall  do  right,  if  I  only  know 
what  right  is." 

He  did  not  see  his  brother  again  that  day,  or  go  to  the 
cottage  either,  but  as  he  was  dressing  himself  next  morning 
he  said  to  his  wife  : 

"  That  little  girl  ought  to  see  her  mother  before  she  is 
buried.  I  shall  send  for  her  to-day.  The  coroner  will  be 
here,  too.  Did  I  tell  you  1  had  a  telegram  last  night  ?  He 
is  coming  on  the  early  train." 

Mrs.  Tracy  passed  the  allusion  to  the  coroner  in  silence, 
but  of  the  little  girl  she  said  : 

"  I  suppose  the  child  must  come  to  the  funeral,  but  you 
surely  do  not  mean  to  keep  her  ?  We  are  not  bound  to  do 
that  because  her  mother  froze  to  death  on  our  premises." 

"  Would  you  let  her  go  to  the  poor-house  ?"  Frank 
asked,  but  Dolly  did  not  reply,  and  as  the  breakfast-bell  just 
then  rang,  no  more  was  said  of  the  little  waif  until  the 
sleigh  was  brought  to  the  door,  and  Frank  announced  his 
intention  of  stopping  for  the  child  on  his  way  back  from 
the  station,  where  he  was  going  to  meet  the  coroner. 


108  LITTLE  JERRY. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

LITTLE   JEEEY. 

IT  was  nearly  noon  when  Harold  left  Tracy  Park  the 
previous  day  and  started  for  home,  eager  and  anxious 
with  regard  to  the  child  whom  he  claimed  as  his  own.  He 
had  found  her.  She  was  his,  and  he  should  keep  her,  he 
said  to  himself,  and  then  he  wondered  how  his  grandmother 
had  managed  with  her,  and  if  she  had  cried  for  him  or  her 
mother,  and  as  he  reached  the  house  he  stood  still  a  mo- 
ment to  listen.  But  the  sounds  which  met  his  ear  were 
peals  of  laughter,  mingled  with  mild,  and,  as  it  would 
seem,  unavailing  expostulations  from  his  grandmother. 

Opening  the  door  suddenly,  he  found  the  child  seated 
at  the  table  in  the  high  chair  he  used  to  occupy.  Standing 
before  her  was  a  dish  of  bread  and  milk,  of  which  she  had 
evidently  eaten  enough,  for  she  was  playing  with  it,  and 
amusing  herself  by  striking  the  spoon  into  the  milk,  which 
was  splashed  over  the  table,  while  three  or  four  drops  of  it 
were  standing  on  the  forehead  and  nose  of  the  distressed 
woman,  who  was  vainly  trying  to  take  the  spoon  from  the 
little  hand  clenching  it  so  firmly. 

Mrs.  Crawford  had  had  a  busy  and  exciting  day  with 
her  charge,  who,  active,  and  restless,  and  playful,  kept  her 
on  the  alert  and  made  her  forget  in  part  how  lame  she  was. 
As  she  could  not  put  her  foot  to  the  floor  without  great 
pain,  and  as  she  must  move  about,  she  had  adopted  the 
expedient  of  placing  her  knee  on  <i  chair  to  the  back  of 
which  she  held,  while  she  hobbled  around  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  the  child,  who,  delighted  with  this  novel  method 
of  locomotion,  put  her  knee  in  a  low  chair,  and,  holding-  to 
Mrs.  Crawford's  skirts,  limped  after  her,  imitating  her  per- 
fectly, even  to  the  groans  she  sometimes  uttered  when  a 
twinge  sharper  than  usual  ran  up  her  swollen  limb.  It  was 
fun  for  the  child,  but  almost  death  to  the  woman,  who, 
when  she  could  endure  it  no  longer,  sank  into  a  chair,  and 
tried,  by  speaking  sharply,  to  make  the  little  girl  under- 
stand that  she  must  be  quiet.  But  when  she  scolded,  baby 


LITTLE  JERRY.  109 

scolded  back,  in  a  language  wholly  unintelligible,  shaking 
her  curly  head,  and  sometimes  stamping  her  foot  by  way 
of  emphasizing  her  words. 

When  Mrs.  Crawford  laughed  the  child  laughed,  and 
when  once  a  pang  severer  than  usual  wrung  the  tears  from 
her  eyes,  baby  looked  at  her  compassionately  a  moment, 
while  her  little"  face  puckered  itself  into  wrinkles  as  if  she, 
too,  were  going  to  cry  ;  then,  putting  up  her  hand,  she 
wiped  the  tears  from  Mrs.  Crawford's  cheeks,  and,  climb- 
ing into  her  lap,  became  as  quiet  as  a  kitten.  But  a  touch 
sufficed  to  start  her  up,  for  she  was  full  of  fun  and  frolic, 
and  her  laughing  blue  eyes,  which  were  of  that  wide-open 
kind  which  see  every  thing,  were  brimming  over  with  mis- 
chief. Once  or  twice  she  called  for  "  Mali-nee,"  and, 
going  to  the  window,  stood  on  tip-toe,  looking  out  to  see  if 
she  were  coming.  But  on  the  whole  she  seemed  happy  and 
content,  exploring  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  kitchen, 
and  examining  curiously  every  article  of  furniture  as  if  it 
were  quite  new  to  her. 

Once  when  Mrs.  Crawford  was  talking  earnestly  to  her, 
trying  to  make  her  understand,  she  stood  for  a  moment 
watching  and  imitating  the  motion  of  the  lady's  lips  and 
the  expression  of  her  face  ;  then  going  up  to  her,  she  began 
to  examine  her  mouth  and  her  teeth,  as  if  she  would  know 
what  manner  of  machinery  it  was  which  produced  sounds 
so  new  and  strange  to  her.  She  was  a  remarkable  child  for 
her  age,  though  Mrs.  Crawford  was  puzzled  to  know  just 
what  that  was.  She  was  very  small,  and,  judging  from 
her  size,  one  would  have  said  she  was  not  more  than  four 
years  old  ;  but  the  expression  of  her  face  was  so  mature, 
and  she  saw  things  so  quickly  and  understood  so  readily, 
that  she  must  have  been  older.  She  was  certainly  very 
precocious,  and  Mrs.  Crawford  felt  herself  greatly  inter- 
ested in  her  as  she  watch ed  her  active  movements  and  lis- 
tened to  the  musical  prattle  she  could  not  understand. 

She  had  examined  the  carpet-bag,  in  which  she  found 
the  articles  necessary  for  an  ocean  voyage,  and  little  else. 
Most  of  these  were  soiled  from  use,  but  there  was  among 
them  a  little  clean,  white  apron,  and  this  Mrs.  Crawford 
put  upon  the  child,  after  having  washed  her  face  and 
hands  and  brushed  her  hair,  which  had  a  trick  of  coiling 
itself  into  soft,  fluffy  curls  all  over  her  head. 


110  LITTLE  JERRY. 

The  bread  and  milk  had  been  given  her  about  twelve 
o'clock,  and  the  laugh  she  gave  when  she  saw  it  showed  her 
appreciation  of  it  quite  as  much  as  the  eagerness  with 
which  she  ate  it.  Her  appetite  appeased,  however,  she 
began  to  play  with  it,  and  throw  the  milk  over  the  table 
and  into  Mrs.  Crawford's  face,  just  as  Harold  came  in,  full 
of  what  he  had  seen  at  the  park,  and  anxious  to  see  his 
baby,  as  he  called  her. 

Taking  her  on  his  lap  and  kissing  her  rosy  cheeks,  he 
began  to  narrate  to  his  grandmother  all  that  had  been  done, 
and  told  her  that  Mr.  St.  Claire  had  said  that  the  woman 
was  French. 

"  And  if  so,"  he  continued,  "  baby  must  be  French,  too, 
though  she  does  not  look  a  bit  like  her  mother,  who  is  very 
dark  and  not — well,  not  at  all  like  you  or  Mrs.  St.  Claire." 

Then  he  told  of  the  trunk  which  the  baggage-master  had 
taken  to  the  park,  and  of  what  it  contained. 

"  The  woman's  clothes  were  marked  '~N.  B.'"  he  said, 
"  and  some  of  the  baby's — such  a  funny  name.  Mr.  St. 
Claire  said  it  was  French,  and  pronounced  ( Jerreen,'  though 
it  is  spelled  '  Jerrine.'  " 

"  That  is  the  name  on  the  child's  things  in  the  bag," 
Mrs.  Crawford  said. 

"  Of  course  it  is  baby's,  then,"  Harold  replied;  "but  I 
shall  call  her  Jerry  for  short,  even  if  it  is  a  boy's  name,  and 
so,  my  little  lady,  I  christen  you  Jerry;"  and  kissing  the 
forehead,  the  eyes,  the  nose,  and  the  chin,  he  marked  the 
shape  of  the  cross  upon  the  face  upturned  to  his,  and 
named  his  baby  "  Jerry,"  and  when  he  called  her  that  she 
laughed  and  nodded  as  if  the  sound  were  not  new  to  her. 
She  was  a  beautiful  child,  with  complexion  as  pure  as  wax, 
and  eyes  which  might  have  borrowed  their  color  from  the 
blue  lakes  of  Italy,  or  from  the  skies  of  England  when  they 
are  at  their  brightest. 

"  I  wish  she  could  talk  to  me.  I  suppose  she  must  speak 
French,"  he  said,  as  he  was  trying  in  vain  to  make  her 
understand  him.  "Don't  you  know  a  word  I  say?"  he 
asked  her,  and  her  reply  was  what  sounded  to  him  like 
"  We,  we." 

"  That's  English,"  he  cried,  delighted  with  her  pro- 
gress, but  when  he  spoke  to  her  again,  her  answer  was 
"  Yah,  yah/'  which  seemed  to  him  so  nonsensical  that  after 


LITTLE  JERRY.  Ill 

a  few  attemps  to  make  her  say  "  yes,"  and  to  teach  her 
what  it  meant,  he  gave  up  his  lesson  for  the  remainder  of 
the  day  and  talked  to  her  by  signs  and  gestures  which  she 
seemed  to  understand. 

Whatever  he  did  she  did,  and  he  saw  her  more  than 
once  imitating  his  grandmother's  motions  as  well  as  his 
own,  to  the  life. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Mr.  St.  Claire  came  to  the  cot- 
tage, curious  to  see  the  child,  who,  at  sight  of  him, 
retreated  behind  Harold,  and  then  peered  shyly  up  at  him, 
with  a  look  in  her  great  blue  eyes  which  puzzled  him  on 
the  instant,  as  one  is  frequently  puzzled  with  a  likeness  to 
something  or  somebody  he  tries  in  vain  to  recall.  In  this 
instance  it  was  hardly  the  eyes  themselves,  but  rather  the 
way  they  looked  at  him,  and  the  sweep  of  the  long  kshes, 
together  with  a  firm  shutting  together  of  the  lips,  which 
struck  Mr.  St.  Claire  as  familiar,  and  when,  with  a  swift 
movement  of  her  little  hand,  she  swept  the  mass  of  golden 
hair  back  from  her  forehead,  he  would  have  sworn  that  he 
had  seen  that  trick  a  thousand  times,  and  yet  he  could  not 
place  it.  That  she  was  the  child  of  the  dead  woman  he 
believed,  and  as  the  mother  was  French,  so  also  was  she. 
He  had  once  passed  two  years  in  France,  and  was  master 
of  the  language ;  so  he  spoke  to  her  in  French,  but  she 
made  no  reply,  until  he  said  to  her  : 

"  Where  is  your  mother,  little  one  ?" 

Then  she  answered,  promptly,  "Dead,"  but  the  lan- 
guage was  German,  not  French. 

"  Ho-ho  !  You  are  a  little  Dutchman,"  Mr.  St.  Claire 
said,  with  some  surprise  in  his  voice. 

Then,  as  he  noted  the  purity  of  her  complexion,  her 
fair  hair  and  blue  eyes,  he  said  to  himself  : 

"Her  father  was  a  German,  and  probably  they  lived  in 
Germany,  but  the  mother  was  certainly  French." 

He  could  speak  German  a  little,  and  turning  again  to 
the  child,  he  managed  to  say  : 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Der-ree,"  was  the  reply,  and  Harold  exclaimed  : 

"  That's  it ;  she  means  Jerry ;  that's  short  for  the  name 
on  her  clothes,  which  you  said  was  Jerreen.  I  have  chris- 
tened her  Jerry,  and  she  is  my  little  girl,  ain't  you, 
Jerry?" 


113  LITTLE  JERRY. 

"  Yah — oui — 'ess,"  was  the  answer,  and  there  was  a 
gleam  of  triumph  in  the  blue  eyes  which  flashed  up  to 
Harold  fur  approbation. 

She  had  not,  of  course,  understood  a  word  he  said, 
except,  indeed,  her  name,  but  the  tone  of  his  voice  was 
interrogatory  and  seemed  to  expect  an  affirmative  answer, 
which  she  gave  in  three  languages,  emphasizing  '  'ess'  with 
a  nod  of  her  head,  as  if  greatly  pleased  with  herself. 

"Bravo!"  Harold  shouted.  "She  can  say  yes.  I 
taught  her,  and  I  shall  have  her  talking  English  in  a  few 
days  as  well  as  I  do,  sha'n't  I,  Jerry  ?  " 

"  Yah — 'ess,"  was  the  reply. 

Then  Mr.  St.  Claire  tried  to  question  her  further  with 
regard  to  herself  and  her  home,  but  no  satisfactory  result 
was  reached  beyond  the  fact  that  her  mother  was  dead,  that 
her  name  was  Jerry,  or  Derree,  as  she  called  it,  and  that 
she  had  been  on  a  ship  with  Mah-nee,  who  did  so — and  she 
imitated  perfectly  the  motions  and  contortions  of  one  who 
was  deathly  sea-sick. 

"  I  suppose  she  means  her  mother  by  Mah-nee,"  Mr. 
St.  Claire  said ;  and  when  he  asked  her  if  it  were  not  so, 
she  answered  "yah,"  and  "'ess,"  as  she  did  to  everything, 
adopting  finally  the  latter  word  altogether  because  she  saw 
it  pleased  Harold.. 

No  matter  what  was  the  question  put  to  her,  her  reply 
was  "  'ess/'  which  she  repeated  quickly,  in  a  lisping  tone, 
Avith  a  prolonged  sound  on  the  "  s." 

When  at  last  Mr.  St.  Claire  took  his  leave,  it  was  with 
a  strange  feeling  of  interest  for  the  child,  whose  antecedents 
must  always  be  shrouded  in  mystery,  and  whose  future  he 
could  not  predict. 

It  seemed  impossible  for  Mrs.  Crawford  to  keep  her, 
poor  as  she  was,  and  as  he  had  no  idea  that  the  Tracys 
would  take  her,  there  Avas  no  alternative  but  the  poor- 
house,  unless  he  took  her  himself  and  brought  her  up  with 
his  own  little  five-year-old  Nina.  He  would  wait  until  after 
the  funeral  and  s?e,  he  decided,  as  he  went  back  to  his 
home  at  Brier  Hill,  where  his  children,  Dick  and  Nina, 
were  eager  to  hear  all  he  had  to  tell  them  of  the  little  girl 
whose  mother  had  been  frozen  to  death. 

The  next  morning  the  sleigh  from  Tracy  Park  stopped 
before  the  cottage  door,  and  Frank,  who  had  been  to  meet 


LITTLE  JERRY.  113 

the  coroner,  alighted  from  it.  He  was  pale  and  haggard  as 
he  entered  the  room  where  Jerry  was  playing  on  the  floor 
with  Harold's  Maltese  kitten.  As  he  came  in  she  looked 
up  at  him,  and,  lifting  her  hand,  swept  the  hair  back  from 
her  forehead  jnst  as  she  had  done  the  day  before  when  Mr. 
St.  Claire  was  there.  The  motion  had  struck  the  latter  as 
something  familiar,  though  lie  could  not  define  it;  but 
Frank  did,  and  his  knees  shook  so  he  could  hardly  stand 
as  he  talked  with  Mrs.  Crawford  and  told  her  he  had  come 
for  the  child,  who  ought  to  be  where  her  mother  was  until 
after  the  funeral. 

"  Then  she  will  come  back  again.  Yon  will  not  keep 
her.  She  is  mine,  ain't  you,  Jerry  ?"  Harold  exclaimed, 
eagerly ;  while  Jerry,  who,  with  a  child's  instinct,  scented 
danger  from  Harold's  manner,  and  associated  that  danger 
with  the  stainge  man  looking  so  curiously  at  her,  sprang  to 
her  feet,  which  she  stamped  vigorously,  while  she  cried, 
••'  'Ess,  'ess,  'ess,"  with  her  blue  eyes  anything  but  soft  and 
sunny,  as  they  usually  were. 

In  this  mood  she  was  not  much  like  Gretchen  in  the 
picture,  but  she  was  like  some  one  else  whom  Frank  had 
seen  in  excited  moods,  and  he  grew  faint  and  sick  as  he 
watched  her,  and  saw  the  varying  expression  of  her  face 
and  eyes.  The  way  she  shook  her  head  at  him  and  flour- 
ished her  hands  was  a  way  he  had  seen  many  times,  and  he 
felt  as  if  his  heart  would  leap  from  his  throat  as  he  tried  to 
speak  to  her.  A  turn  of  the  head,  a  gesture  of  the  hands, 
a  curve  of  the  eyelashes,  a  tone  in  the  voice,  seemed  slight 
actions  on  which  to  base  a  certainty  ;  but  Frank  did  feel 
certain,  and  his  brain  reeled  for  an  instant  as  his  thoughts 
leaped  forward  years  and  years  until  he  was  an  old  man, 
and  he  wondered  if  he  could  bear  it  and  make  no  sign. 

Then,  just  as  he  had  decided  that  he  could  not,  the 
tempter  suggested  to  him  a  plan  which  seemed  so  feasible 
and  fair  that  the  future,  with  a  secret  to  guard,  did  not 
look  so  formidable,  and  to  himself,  he  said  : 

"  It  is  not  likely  I  c;m  ever  be  positive  ;  and  so  long  as 
there  is  a  doubt,  however  small,  it  would  be  preposterous  to 
give  up  what  otherwise  must  come  to  my  children,  if  not 
to  me  ;  but  I  will  not  wrong  her  more  than  I  can  help.'' 

"  Come,  little  girl,"  he  said,  in  his  kindest  tones,  a.s  In; 


114  JERR7    AT    THE    PARK. 

advanced  toward  her,  while  Harold  went  for  her  cloak  and 
hood. 

Jerry  knew  then  that  she  was  expected  to  go  with  the 
stranger,  and  without  Harold,  and  resisted  with  all  her 
might.  Standing  behind  him  as  if  safe  there,  and  clinging 
to  his  coat,  she  sobbed  piteously,  intermingling  her  sobs 
with  "'Ess,  'ess,  'ess,"  the  only  English  word  she  knew,  and 
which  she  seemed  to  think  would  avail  in  every  emergency. 

And  it  did  help  her  now,  for  Harold  asked  that  he 
might  go,  too  ;  arid  when  Jerry  saw  him  with  his  coat  and 
hat,  and  understood  that  he  was  to  be  her  escort,  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  made  ready,  and  was  soon  in  the  sleigh,  and 
on  her  way  to  Tracy  Park. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

JERRY   AT   THE  PARK. 

"  A  ND  so  this  is  the  little  girl.  We'll  take  her  right  to 
•£*•  the  kitchen,  where  she  can  get  warm,"  Mrs.  Tracy 
said  as  she  met  her  husband  in  the  hall,  with  Harold,  and 
the  mite  of  a  creature  wrapped  in  the  foreign  looking  cloak 
and  hood. 

"No  Dolly!"  and  Frank  spoke  very  decidedly.  "She 
is  going  to  the  nursery,  with  the  other  children,  and  when 
they  have  their  dinner  she  will  have  hers  with  them." 

"  'Ess,  'ess,  'ess !"  Jerry  said,  as  if  she  comprehended 
that  there  was  a  difference  of  opinion  between  the  man  and 
woman,  and  that  she  was  on  the  affirmative  side. 

"  Take  her  to  the  nursery  !  Oh,  Frank  !  she  may  have 
something  about  her  which  the  children  will  catch,"  Mrs. 
Tracy  said,  blocking  the  way  as  she  spoke. 

But  Jerry,  who  through  the  half-open  door  had  caught 
sight  of  the  pretty  sitting-room,  with  its  warm  carpet  and 
curtains,  and  cheerful  fire,  shook  her  head  defiantly  at  the 
lady,  and  brushing  past  her,  went  boldly  into  the  room 
whose  brightness  had  attracted  her. 

Marching  up  to  the  fire,  she  stood  upon  the  rug  and 
looked  about  her  with  evident  satisfaction ;  then  glancing 


JERRY   AT    THE    PARR.  115 

at  Harold,  she  nodded  complacently,  and  said,  "  'Ess,  'ess," 
while  she  held  her  little  cold  hands  to  the  fire. 

"Acts  as  if  she  belonged  here,  doesn't  she?"  Frank 
said  to  his  wif  c,  who  did  not  reply,  so  intent  was  she  upon 
watching  the  strange  child,  who  deliberately  took  off  her 
cloak  and  hood,  and  tossing  them  upon  the  floor,  drew  a 
chair  to  the  fire,  and  climbing  into  it,  sat  down  as  compos- 
edly as  if  she  were  mistress  there  instead  of  an  intruder. 

"  Take  her  to  the  nursery  now.  I  must  see  to  that  cor- 
oner," Frank  continued,  "and  Harold  must  go  too,  or 
there  will  be  the  Old  Harry  to  pay." 

"  'Ess,  'ess,"  came  very  decidedly  from  the  child,  who 
went  willingly  with  Harold,  and  was  soon  ushered  into  the 
large  uppor  room,  which  was  used  as  both  nursery  and 
school-room,  for  Mrs.  Tracy  would  not  allow  her  two  sons, 
Tom  and  Jack,  to  come  in  contact  with  the  boys  at  school  : 
BO  she  kept  a  governess,  who,  glad  of  a  home  and  the  lib- 
eral compensation,  sat  all  day  in  the  nursery  and  bore 
patiently  with  Tom's  freaks  and  Jack's  dullness,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  trouble  it  was  to  have  Maude  toddling  about 
and  interfering  with  everything. 

"  Hallo  !"  Tom  cried,  as  his  mother  came  in,  followed 
by  Harold  and  Jerry..  "  Hallo,  what's  up  ?"  And  throw- 
ing aside  the  slate  on  which  he  had  been  trying  to  master 
the  difficulties  of  a  sum  in  long  division,  he  went  toward 
them,  and  said  :  "  Has  the  coroner  come,  and  can't  I  go 
and  see  the  inquest  ?  You  said  maybe  I  could  if  I  behaved, 
and  I  do,  don't  I  Miss  Howard  ?" 

Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  Jerry,  and  stopping  short, 
exclaimed  : 

"  By  Jingo  !  ain't  she  pretty  ?    I  mean  to  kiss  her." 

And  he  made  a  movement  toward  the  little  girl  who 
looked  up  so  shyly  at  him.  But  his  mother  caught  his 
arm  and  held  him  back,  as  she  said,  sharply : 

"Don't  touch  her,  there  is  no  telling  what  you  may 
catch.  I  wanted  her  to  go  to  the  kitchen,  the  proper  place 
for  her,  but  your  father  insisted  that  she  should  be  brought 
here.  I  hope,  Miss  Howard,  you  will  see  that  she  does  not 
go  near  the  children." 

"  Yes,  madam,"  Miss  Howard  replied  ;  "but  I  am  sure 
there  can  be  no  danger.  She  looks  as  clean  and  sweet  as  a 
rose." 


116  JERRY    AT    THE    PARK. 

Miss  Howard  was  fond  of  children,  and  she  held  outlier 
hand  to  the  little  girl,  who  seemed  to  have  a  most  wonder- 
ful faculty  for  discriminating  between  friends  and  enemies, 
and  who  went  to  her  readily  ;  and  leaning  against  her  arm, 
looked  curiously  at  the  group  of  children — Tom,  and  Jack, 
and  Maude — the  latter  of  whom  wished  to  go  to  her,  bub 
was  restrained  by  the  nurse.  The  moment  the  door  closed 
upon  Mrs.  Tracy,  Tom  walked  up  to  the  child,  and  said  : 
"  I  wonder  who  you  are  anyway,  and  how  you  will  like  the 
poor-house  ?'' 

'•  Who  said  she  was  going  to  the  poor-house  ?"  Harold 
exclaimed,  indignantly. 

'•  Mother  said  so,"  Tom  replied.  "  I  heard  her  talking 
to  the  cook.  Where  would  she  go  if  she  didn't  go  to  the 
poor-house  ?  Who  would  take  care  of  her  ?" 

"  I  shall  take  care  of  her,"  Harold  answered.  She 
will  live  with  grandmother  and  me.  I  found  her,  and  she 
is  mine." 

"  'Ess,  'ess,"  came  from  Jerry,  as  she  swung  one  little 
foot  back  and  forth  and  looked  confidingly  at  her  cham- 
pion. 

"  You  take  care  of  her!"  Tom  sneered,  with  that  super- 
cilious air  he  always  assumed  toward  those  he  considered 
his  inferiors.  "  Why,  you  and  your  grandmother  can't 
take  care  of  yourselves,  or  you  couldn't  if  it  wasn't  for 
Uncle  Arthur.  You  wouldn't  have  any  house  to  live  in  if 
lie  hadn't  give  it  to  you." 

Harold's  arms  were  unfolded  now  and  the  doubled  fists 
were  in  his  pockets,  clenching  themselves  tighter  and 
tighter  as  he  advanced  to  Tom,  who  began  to  back  toward 
the  nurse  for  safety. 

"It's  a  lie,  Tom  Tracy,"  Harold  said.  "Mr.  Arthur 
does  not  take  care  of  us.  We  do  it  ourselves,  and  have  for 
ever  so  long.  He  did  give  us  the  house,  but  it  ain't  for 
you  to  twit  me  of  that.  Whose  house  is  this,  I'd  like  to 
know?  It  isn't  yours,  nor  your  father's,  and  there  isn't  a 
thing  in  it  yours.  It  is  all  Mr.  Arthur's." 

"  Well,  we  are  to  be  his  heirs — Jack,  and  Maude,  and 
me.  Mother  says  so,"  Tom  stammered  out,  while  Jerry, 
who  had  been  looking  intently,  first  at  one  boy,  and  then 
at  the  other,  called  out: 

"}s[ein;  nein/'  and  struck  her  hand  toward  Tom. 


JEKHT  AT  THE  PARS.  n? 

"What  does  she  mean  by  her  '  INTine,  nine/''  he  asked 
of  Miss  Howard,  who  replied  that  she  thought  it  was  the 
German  for  '  No,  no/  and  that  the  child  probably  did  not 
approve  of  him. 

Tom  knew  she  did  not,  and  though  she  was  only  a 
baby,  ho  felt  chagrined  and  irritable.  Had  he  dared,  he 
would  have  struck  Harold,  but  he  was  afraid  of  Miss  How- 
ard, and  remembering  it  must  be  time  for  the  inquest,  he 
slipped  from  the  room,  whispering  to  Harold  as  he  passed 
him: 

"  I'll  thrash  you  yet." 

"  Let  me  know  when  you  are  ready/'  was  Harold's 
taunting  reply,  as  the  door  closed  upon  the  discomfited 
Tom. 

The  inquest  was  a  mere  matter  of  form,  for  there  was 
no  doubt  in  any  one's  mind  that  the  woman  had  been 
frozen  to  death,  and  she  had  no  friends  to  complain  that 
due  attention  had  not  been  paid  her.  So  after  a  few  ques- 
tions put  to  Mr.  Tracy,  and  more  to  Harold,  who  was  sum- 
moned from  the  nursery  to  tell  what  he  knew,  a  verdict 
was  rendered  of  "Frozen  to  death." 

Then  came  the  question  where  should  she  be  buried, 
and  at  whose  expense.  Quite  a  number  of  people  had 
assembled,  and  the  little  room  was  full.  Conspicuous 
among  them  was  Peterkin,  who,  having  been  elected  to  an 
office,  which  necessitated  a  care  for  the  expenditures  of  the 
village,  was  swelling  with  importance,  and  dying  for  a 
chance  to  be  heard. 

When  Harold  came  into  the  room  Jerry  was  with  him. 
She  had  refused  to  let  him  leave  her,  and  he  led  her  by 
the  hand  into  the  midst  of  the  men,  who  grew  as  silent  and 
respectful  the  moment  she  appeared  as  if  she  had  been  a 
woman  instead  of  a  little  child,  who  could  speak  no  word 
of  their  language,  or  understand  what  was  said  to  her.  It 
was  her  mother  lying  there  dead,  and  they  made  way  for 
her  as,  catching  sight  of  the  white  face,  she  uttered  a  cry 
of  joy,  and  running  up  to  the  body,  patted  the  cold  checks, 
while  she  kept  calling  "  Mali -nee,  Mah-nee,"  and  saying 
words  unintelligible  to  all,  but  full  of  pathos  and  love,  and 
child-like  coaxing  for  the  inanimate  form  to  rouse  itself, 
and  speak  to  her  again. 


118  jmnr  AT  THE 

"Poor  little  thing,"  was  said  by  more  than  one,  and 
hands  went  up  to  eyes  unused  to  tears,  for  the  sight  was  a 
touching  one — that  lovely  child  bending  over  the  dead 
face,  and  imprinting  kisses  upon  it. 

Harold  took  her  away  from  the  body,  and  lifting  her 
into  a  chair,  kept  by  her  as  with  her  arm  around  his  neck 
she  stood  watching,  and  sometimes  imitating  the  gestures 
of  the  men  around  her. 

It  was  Peterkin  who  spoke  first ;  standing  back  so 
straight  that  his  immense  stomach,  with  the  heavy  gold 
watch-chain  hanging  across  it,  seemed  to  fill  the  room,  he 
gave  his  opinion  before  any  one  else  had  a  chance  to  express 
theirs. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  been  in  the  house  since  the 
morning  after  the  party,  when  Arthur  had  turned  him 
from  the  door.  He  had  vowed  vengeance  against  the 
Tracys  and  kept  this  vow  by  spending  two  thousand  dollars 
in  order  to  defeat  Frank  as  member  of  Congress  and  to 
get  himself  elected  as  one  of  the  village  trustees,  and  now 
he  had  come,  partly  out  of  curiosity  to  see  the  woman  and 
partly  to  oppose  her  being  buried  by  the  town,  if  such  a 
thing  were  suggested. 

"  Let  tli em  Traceys  bury  their  own  dead,"  he  said  to 
his  wife  before  he  left  home,  and  he  said  it  again  in  sub- 
stance now,  as  with  a  tremendous  "  ahem  !"  he  commenced 
his  speech,  standing  close  to  little  Jerry,  who  watched  him 
with  a  face  which  varied  in  its  expression  with  every  varia- 
tion in  his  voice  and  manner,  and  reached  its  climax  when 
he  said  :  "  I  don't  b'lieve  in  saddlin'  the  town  with  a  debt 
we  don't  orto  pay.  Let  the  Tracys  bury  their  own  dead,  I 
say  ! " 

"'Ess,  'ess,"  Jerry  chimed  in,  with  an«emphatic  nod  of 
her  head  with  each  "  'ess,"  and  a  flourish  of  her  hand  more 
threatening  than  approving  toward  the  speaker,  who 
glanced  at  her  and  went  on  : 

"  Don't  you  see,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  who  this  cub 
looks  like.  I  do  !  and  so  can  you  with  half  an  eye.  She 
looks  like  Arthur  Tracy  !  " 

Just  then  Jerry  swept  back  her  golden  hair,  and,  open- 
ing her  eyes  very  wide  flashed  them  around  the  room  until 
they  rested  by  accident  upon  Frank,  who,  pale  and  faint, 
and  terrified,  was  leaning  against  the  door-way  trying  to 


JERRY   AT    THE   PARK.  119 

seem  only  amused  at  the  tirade  winch  -was  concluded  as 
follows  : 

"Yes,  Arthur  Tracy!  Not  her  skin,  perhaps,  nor 
hair,  nor  her  eyes,  leastwise  not  the  color,  but  something  I 
can't  describe  ;  and  this  woman,  her  mother,  you  say  is  a 
furriner  ;  that  may  be,  but  he's  been  in  f urren  parts  too. 
I  don't  say  nothing  nor  insiuerate  nothing  but  I  won't 
consent  to  have  the  town  pay  what  belongs  to  the  Tracy s. 
Let  'm  run  their  own  canoes  and  funerals,  too,  I  say;  and 
as  for  this  young  one  with  the  3rallcr  hair — though  where 
she  got  that  the  lord  only  knows  ;  'taiu't  her's,"  pointing 
to  the  corpse  ;  "  nor  'tain't  his'n,"  pointing  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Arthur's  rooms;  "as  for  her,  I'm  opposed  to 
sendin'  to  the  poor-house  another  pauper." 

"  She  is  not  a  pauper,  and  she  is  not  going  to  the  poor- 
house  either,"  Harold  exclaimed,  while  Jerry  came  in  with 
her  "men,  nien,"  which  made  the  bystanders  laugh,  as 
Peterkin  went  on,  addressing  himself  10  Harold : 

"  You  arc  her  champion,  hey,  and  intend  to  take  care  of 
her.  Mighty  fine,  I'm  sure,  but  hadn't  you  better  fetch 
back  May  Jane's  pin  that  you  took  at  the  party." 

"It  is  false/'  Harold  cried.  "  I  never  saw  the  pin, 
never  !"  and  the  hot  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes  at  this 
unmanly  assault. 

By  this  time  Peterkin,  who  felt  that  everybody  was 
against  him,  was  swelling  with  rage,  and  seizing  Harold  by 
the  collar,  roared  out  : 

"Do  you  tell  me  I  lie  !  You  rascal  !  I'll  teach  you 
what  belongs  to  manners  !"  and  he  would  have  struck 
the  boy  but  for  Jerry,  who  had  been  watching  him  as  a 
cat  watches  a  mouse,  and  who,  raising  her  war-cry  of 
"nien,  men," sprang  at  him  like  a  little  tiger,  and  by  the 
fierceness  of  her  gestures  and  the  volubility  of  her  German 
jargon  actually  compelled  him  to  retreat  step  by  step  until 
she  had  him  outside  the  door,  which  she  barred  with  her 
diminutive  person.  No  one  could  help  laughing  at  the  dis- 
comfited giant  and  the  mite  of  a  child  facing  him  so  bravely, 
while  she  scolded  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

Peterkin  saw  that  he  was  beaten  and  left  the  house, 
while  Frank,  who  IKK}  iv-covi'ivd  his  composure  during  the 
ludicrous  scene,  .-aid  to  tho-c-  present: 

"I  would  not  explain   to  that  brute,  but  it  is  not  my 


120  MRRT   AT    TUB   PARR. 

intention  to  trouble  the  town.  I  have  no  more  idea  who 
this  woman  is  than  you  have,  and  I'll  swear  that  Peterkin's 
vile  insinuations  with  regard  to  her  are  false.  My  brother 
says  he  never  saw  her,  and  he  speaks  the  truth.  She  has 
every  appearance  of  a  foreigner,  and  her  child  " —  here 
Frank's  tongue  felt  a  little  thick,  but  he  cleared  his  throat 
and  went  on — "  her  child  speaks  a  foreign  language — Ger- 
man, they  tell  me.  This  poor  woman  died  on  my — or 
rather  my  brother's  premises.  I  have  consulted  with  him, 
and  he  thinks  as  I  do,  that  she  should  be  cared  for  at  our 
expense.  He  says,  further,  that  as  there  is  room  in  the 
Tracy  lot,  she  is  to  be  buried  there.  I  shall  attend  to  it  at 
once,  and  the  funeral  will  take  place  to-morrow  morning 
at  ten  o'clock  from  this  house.  What  disposition  will  be 
made  of  the  child  I  have  not  yet  decided,  but  she  will  not 
go  to  the  poor-house/' 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Tracy,"  Harold  burst  out,  "  she  is  mine. 
She  is  to  live  with  grandma  and  me.  You  will  not  take 
her  from  me — say  you  will  not  ?" 

"  Villnot,"  Jerry  reiterated,  imitating  as  well  as  she 
could  Harold's  last  words. 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Tracy  looked  fixedly  at  the  boy, 
pleading  for  a  burden  which  would  necessitate  toil,  and 
self-denial,  and  patience  of  no  ordinary  kind,  and  never 
had  he  despised  himself  more  than  he  did  when,  believing 
what  he  did  believe,  he  said  at  last : 

"  I  will  talk  with  your  grandmother,  and  see  what 
arrangements  we  can  make.  I  rather  think  you  have  the 
best  right  to  her.  But  she  must  stay  here  until  after  the 
funeral,  when  she  can  go  with  you,  if  you  like." 

To  this  Harold  did  not  object,  and,  as  Jerry  seemed 
very  happy  and  content,  he  left  her,  while  she  was  explor- 
ing the  long  drawing-room,  and  examining  the  different 
articles  of  furniture.  As  she  did  not  seem  disposed  to 
touch  anything  she  was  allowed  to  go  where  she  liked, 
although  Mrs.  Frank  remonstrated  against  her  roaming  all 
over  the  house  as  if  she  belonged  there,  and  suggested  again 
that  she  be  sent  to  the  kitchen.  But  Frank  said  "no," 
and  Jerry  was  left  to  herself,  except  as  the  nurse-girl  and 
Charles  looked  after  her  a  little. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  toward  evening  she  found 
herself  in  the  upper  hall,  and  after  making  the  tour  of  the 


JERRY   AT    THE    PARK.  121 

rooms  whose  doors  were  open,  she  came  to  one  whose 
door  was  shut — nor  could  she  turn  the  knob,  although  she 
tried  with  all  her  might.  Doubling  her  tiny  fist,  she 
knocked  upon  the  door,  and  then,  as  no  one  came,  kicked 
against  it  with  her  foot,  but  still  with  no  result. 

Inside  the  room  Arthur  sat  in  his  dressing-gown,  very 
nervous,  and  a  little  inclined  to  be  irritable  and  captious. 
He  knew  there  bad  been  an  inquest,  and  that  many  people 
had  come  and  gone  that  day,  for  he  had  seen  them  from 
his  window,  and  had  seen,  too,  the  sleigh,  with  Frank,  and 
the  coroner,  and  Harold,  and  a  blue  hood,  drive  into  the 
yard.  But  to  the  blue  hood  he  never  gave  a  thought,  as  he 
was  only  intent  upon  the  dead  woman,  whose  presence  in 
the  house  made  him  so  nervous  and  restless. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  when  she  is  buried.  I  have  been  so 
cold  and  shaky  ever  since  they  brought  her  here,"  he  said 
to  Charles,  as,  with  a  shiver,  he  drew  his  chair  nearer  to 
the  fire,  and  leaning  back  wearily  in  it,  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
Gretchen's  picture  smiling  at  him  from  the  window. 
"  Dear  little  Gretchen,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  "you  seem 
so  near  to  me  now  that  I  can  almost  hear  your  feet  at  the 
door,  and  your  voice  asking  to  come  in.  Hush  !"  and  he 
started  suddenly,  as  Jerry's  kicks  made  themselves  heard 
even  in  the  room  where  he  sat.  Hush  !  Who  is  that 
banging  at  the  door  ?  Surely  not  Maude  !  They  would 
not  let  her  come  up  here.  Go  and  see,  and  send  her 
away/' 

He  had  forgotten  that  he  was  listening  for  Gretchen, 
and  when  Charles,  who  had  opened  the  door  cautiously  and 
descried  the  intruder,  said  to  him,  "  It  is  that  woman's 
child.  Shall  I  let  her  in  ?  She  is  a  pretty  little  thing," 
he  replied,  "  Let  her  in  ?  No  ;  why  should  you  ?  and  why 
is  she  allowed  to  prowl  about  the  house  ?  Tell  her  to  go 
away." 

So  Jerry  was  sent  away  with  a  troubled,  disappointed 
look  in  her  little  face,  and  as  the  chill  night  came  on,  and 
the  dark  shadows  crept  into  the  room,  and  Gretchen's  pic- 
ture gradually  faded  from  sight  in  the  gathering  gloom, 
until  it  seemed  only  a  confused  mixture  of  lead  and  glass, 
Arthur  felt  colder,  and  drearier,  and  more  wretched  than 
he  had  ever  felt  before.  It  was  a  genuine  case  of  home- 
sickness, if  one  can  be  homesick  in  his  own  house,  sur- 
6 


122  THE    FUNERAL,    AND    AFTER. 

rounded  by  every  possible  comfort  and  luxury.  He  was 
tired,  and  sick,  and  disappointed,  and  his  head  was  aching 
terribly,  while  thoughts  of  the  past  were  crowding  his 
brain  where  the  light  of  reason  seemed  struggling  to  rein- 
state itself.  He  was  thinking  of  Gretchen,  and  longing  for 
her  so  intensely,  that  once  he  groaned  aloud  and  whispered 
to  himself  : 

"  Poor  Gretchen  !  I  am  so  sorry  for  it  all.  I  can  see 
it  clearer  now,  how  I  left  her  and  did  not  write,  and  I 
don't  know  where  she  is,  or  if  she  will  ever  come  ;  and  yet 
I  feel  as  if  she  had  come,  or  tidings  of  her.  Perhaps  my 
letter  reached  her.  Perhaps  she  is  on  her  way.  God  grant 
it,  and  forgive  me,  for  all  I  have  made  her  suffer." 

It  was  very  still  in  the  room  where  Arthur  sat,  for 
Charles  had  gone  out,  and  only  the  occasional  crackling  of 
the  coal  in  the  grate  and  the  ticking  of  the  clock  broke  the 
silence  which  reigned  around  him  ;  and  at  last,  soothed 
into  quiet,  he  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  that  on  his  door  he 
heard  again  the  thud  of  baby  feet,  while  Gretchen's  voice 
was  calling  to  him  to  let  the  baby  in. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    FUNERAL,    AND   AFTER. 

LONG  before  ten  o'clock,  the  hour  appointed  for  the 
funeral,  the  people  began  to  gather  at  the  Park 
House,  and  the  avenue  seemed  full  of  them.  The  news 
that  an  unknown  woman  had  been  frozen  to  death  in  the 
Tramp  House,  had  spread  far  and  wide,  awakening 
in  many  a  curiosity  to  see  the  stranger,  and  discover,  if 
possible,  a  likeness  to  some  one  they  might  have  known. 

It  was  strange  how  many  reminiscences  were  brought 
to  mind  by  this  circumstance,  of  girls  who  had  disappeared 
years  before  and  were  supposed  to  be  dead — or  worse. 
And  this  woman  might  be  one  of  them  ;  and  they  came  in 
crowds  to  see  her,  and  to  see,  as  well,  the  inside  of  the 
handsome  house,  of  which  they  had  heard  so  much, 


TUB    FUNERAL,    AND    AFTER  132 

especially  since  Mr.  Arthur's  return.  But  in  this  they 
were  disappointed,  for  all  the  front  rooms  were  locked 
against  them,  and  only  the  large  dining-room,  the  break- 
fast-room, the  servants'  hall,  and  the  little  back  office 
were  thrown  open  to  the  public.  In  the  first  of  these  the 
corpse  was  lying  in  a  handsome  coffin,  for  Frank  would 
have  no  other  ;  and  when  the  undertaker  suggested  to  him 
that  a  cheaper  one  would  answer  just  as  well,  he  said  : 

"  I  mean  to  bury  her  decently.  Give  me  this  one,  and 
send  the  bill  to  me,  not  to  Arthur." 

It  was  his  funeral,  and,  judging  from  his  face,  he  was 
burying  all  his  friends,  instead  of  a  poor,  unknown 
woman,  whose  large,  coarse  features  and  plain  woolen 
dress  looked  out  oi  place  in  that  handsome  black  coffin, 
with  its  silver-plated  trimmings.  Frank  had  suggested 
that  she  should  have  a  white  merino  shroud,  but  his  wife 
had  overruled  him.  It  was  not  her  funeral,  and  she  had 
no  interest  in  it,  except  that  it  should  be  over  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  the  house  cleansed  from  the  atmosphere  of 
death.  So  when  her  husband  asked  if  the  child  ought  not 
to  have  a  mourning-dress,  she  scoffed  at  him  for  the  sug- 
gestion, saying  she  did  not  like  to  see  children  in  black,  and 
even  if  she  died  herself,  she  should  not  wish  hers  to  wear  it. 

"I  cannot  imagine/'  she  continued,  "why  you  have 
taken  so  unaccountable  a  fancy  to  and  interest  in  these 
people,  especially  the  child.  One  would  think  she  be- 
longed to  royalty,  the  fuss  you  make  over  her.  What 
are  \ve  to  do  with  her  to-night  ?  Where  is  she  to  sleep  ?" 

"  In  the  nursery,"  was  his  reply,  and  he  saw  his  wishes 
carried  out  and  ordered  in  a  crib,  which  used  to  be  Jack's, 
and  bade  the  nurse  see  that  she  was  comfortable. 

So  Jerry  was  put  to  bed  in  the  nursery  and  slept  very 
quietly  until  about  ten  o'clock  when  she  awoke  and  cried 
piteously  for  both  "Mali-nee"  and  "  Ha- roll."  Frank  who 
was  sitting  alone  in  the  library,  heard  the  cry,  and  knew  it 
was  not  Maude's.  Had  it  been  he  would  not  have  minded 
it,  for  he  knew  that  she  would  be  cared  for  without  his 
interference.  But  something  in  the  crying  of  this  little 
foreign  girl  stirred  him  strangely,  and  after  listening  to  it 
a  few  moments  he  arose  and  going  softly  to  the  door  of  the 
nursery  stood  listening  until  a  sharp  hush  from  the  nurse 
girl  decided  him  to  enter,  and  going  to  the  crib  he  bent 


124  ?Rfi    FUNERAL,    AND 

over  the  sobbing  child  and  tried  to  comfort  her.  She 
could  not  understand  him,  but  the  tone  of  his  voice  was 
kind,  and  when  he  put  his  hand  on  her  hot  head  she  took 
it  in  hers  and  held  it  fast,  as  if  she  recognized  in  him  a 
friend.  And  Frank,  as  he  felt  the  clasp  of  the  soft,  warm 
fingers,  and  saw  the  confiding  look  in  the  wide-open  eyes, 
grew  faint  and  cold,  and  askid  himself  again,  as  he  had 
many  times  that  day,  if  he  could  do  it. 

Jerry  was  asleep  at  last,  but  she  sobbed  occasionally  in 
her  sleep,  and  there  were  great  tears  on  her  eye-lashes, 
while  her  fingers  clutched  Frank's  hand  tightly  as  if  fear- 
ing to  let  it  go.  But  he  managed  to  disengage  it  and  steal- 
ing cautiously  from  the  room  went  back  to  the  library 
where  he  sat  late  into  the  night,  facing  the  future  and 
wondering  if  he  could  meet  it. 

He  had  Jerry  at  the  table  next  morning  and  saw  that 
she  was  helped  to  everything  she  wanted  without  any  regard 
to  its  suitability  for  her,  and  when  his  wife  said  rather 
curtly  that  she  never  supposed  he  was  so  fond  of  children, 
he  answered  her  : 

"  I  am  only  doing  as  I  would  wish  some  one  to  do  to 
Maude  if  she  were  like  this  poor  little  girl." 

When,  at  last,  the  hour  for  the  funeral  arrived  he 
placed  her  upon  a  high  chair  close  to  the  coffin,  where  she 
sat  through  the  short  service,  conspicuous  in  her  gray  cloak 
and  blue  hood,  with  her  hair  falling  on  her  neck  and  piled 
in  wavy  masses  on  her  forehead,  while  her  bright  eyes 
scanned  the  crowd  eagerly  as  if  asking  why  they  were  there 
and  why  they  were  all  looking  so  intently  at  her.  More 
than  one  kind-hearted  woman  went  up  and  kissed  her,  and 
when,  at  the  close  of  the  services,  Mr.  Tracy  held  her  in  his 
arms  for  a  last  look  at  her  mother,  their  tears  fell  fast  for 
the  child,  so  unconscious  of  the  meaning  of  what  was  pass- 
ing around  her.  * 

"  Is'nt  she  beautiful  !  Such  lovely  hair,  and  eyes,  and 
dazzling  complexion  I"  was  said  by  more  than  one;  and 
then  they  speculated  as  to  her  future. 

"  Would  she  go  to  the  poor-house  ?  Would  Frank  Tracy 
keep  her,  or  was  it  true  as  they  had  heard,  that  Mr.  Arthur 
Tracy  was  to  adopt  her  as  his  own  ?  And  where  was  Mr. 
Arthur?  He  might  at  least,  have  shown  enough  respect 
for  the  dead  woman  to  come  into  the  room,"  they  said. 


THE    FUNERAL,    AND    AFTER.  125 

But  Arthur  was  sick  in  bed,  suffering  alternately  from 
chills  and  a  raging  fever,  which  set  his  brain  on  fire  and 
made  him  wilder  than  usual.  He  had  not  slept  well  during 
the  night.  Indeed,  he  said,  he  had  not  slept  at  all.  But 
this  was  a  common  assertion  of  his,  and  one  to  which 
Charles  paid  little  heed. 

"A  man  can't  snore  and  not  sleep,"  was  the  unanswer- 
able argument  with  which  he  refuted  the  sleepless  nights 
of  his  master. 

On  this  occasion,  however,  he  had  heard  no  snoring, 
and  Arthur's  face,  seen  by  the  morning  light,  was  a  suffi- 
cient proof  of  the  wakeful  hours  he  had  passed.  He,  too, 
had  heard  the  distant  crying,  and  felt  instinctively  that  it 
Avas  not  Maude's.  Starting  up  in  bed  to  listen,  he  said  : 

"What's  that  ?     Is  that  child  here  yet  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  :  she  is  to  stay  till  after  the  funeral,"  was 
Charles's  reply,  and  Arthur  continued  : 

"  Bring  me  some  cotton  for  my  ears.  I  never  can 
stand  that  noise.  It  is  a  peculiar  cry." 

The  cotton  was  brought.  A  window  in  the  hall  which 
had  a  habit  of  rattling  with  every  breath  of  wind  was 
made  fast  with  a  bit  of  shingle  whittled  out  for  that  pur- 
pose, and  then  Arithur  became  tolerably  quiet  until  morn- 
ing, when  he  began  to  talk  to  himself  in  the  German  lan- 
guage, which  Charles  could  not  understand.  But  he 
caught  the  name  Gretchen,  and  knew  she  was  the  sub- 
ject of  the  sick  man's  thoughts.  Suddenly  turning  to 
his  attendant,  to  whom  he  always  spoke  in  English, 
Arthur  said : 

"  The  funeral  is  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  at  ten  o'clock." 

"  Well,  lock  every  door  leading  up  this  way,  and  shut 
out  the  gossiping  blockheads  who  will  come  by  hundreds, 
and,  if  we  would  let  them,  swarrn  into  my  room  as  thick  as 
the  frogs  were  in  the  houses  of  the  Egyptians.  Shut  the 
doors,  Charles,  and  keep  them  out." 

So  the  doors  were  shut  and  bolted,  and  then  Arthur  lay 
listening  with  that  intensity  which  so  quickens  one's  hear- 
ing, that  the  faintest  sounds  are  distinct  at  great  distances. 
He  heard  the  trampling  footsteps  as  the  people  came  crowd- 
ing in,  and  the  tread  of  horses'  feet  as  sleigh  after  sleigh 
drove  up  the  avenue,  and  once,  with  a  shudder,  he  said  : 


126  THE    FUNERAL,    AND    AFTER. 

"  That  is  the  hearse.     I  am  sure  of  it." 

Then  all  was  still,  and  listen  as  he  might  he  could  not 
distinguish  the  faintest  sound  until  the  services  were  over, 
and  the  people  began  to  leave  the  house. 

"There/'  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief  ;  "  it  will  soon 
be  over.  Bring  me  my  clothes,  Charles.  I  am  going  to 
get  up  and  see  the  last  of  this  poor  woman.  God  help  her, 
whoever  she  was." 

He  was  beginning  to  feel  a  great  pity  for  the  woman 
whose  coffin  they  were  putting  in  the  hearse,  which  moved 
off  a  few  rods,  and  then  stopped  until  the  open  sleigh  came 
up,  the  sleigh  in  which  Frank  Tracy  sat,  muffled  in  his 
heavy  overcoat,  for  the  day,  though  bright  and  sunny,  was 
cold,  and  a  chill  wind  was  blowing.  Dolly  had  taken 
refuge  in  a  headache  which  had  prevented  her  from  being 
present  at  the  funeral,  and  kept  her  from  going  to  the 
grave,  as  her  husband  had  wished  her  to  do.  So  only 
Harold  and  Jerry  occupied  the  sleigh  with  Frank,  and 
these  sat  opposite  him,  with  their  backs  to  the  horses, 
Jerry  in  her  gray  cloak  and  bine  hood  showing  conspicu- 
ously as  she  came  into  full  view  of  the  window  where 
Arthur  stood  looking  at  the  procession,  with  a  feeling  at 
his  heart  as  if  in  some  way  he  were  interested  in  the  sad 
funeral,  where  there  was  no  mourner,  no  one  who  had  ever 
seen  or  known  the  deceased,  except  the  little  helpless  girl, 
looking  around  her  in  perfect  unconcern,  save  as  she  rather 
liked  the  stir  and  all  that  was  going  on. 

They  had  tied  a  thin  vail  over  her  head  to  shield  her 
from  the  cold,  and  thus  her  face  was  not  visible  to  Arthur. 
But  he  saw  the  blue  hood  and  the  golden  hair  on  the  old 
gray  cloak,  and  the  sight  of  it  moved  him  mightily,  mak- 
ing him  hold  fast  to  the  window-casing  for  support,  while 
he  stood  watching  it.  Just  as  far  as  he  could  see  it  his 
eye  followed  that  hood,  and  when  it  disappeared  from 
view,  he  turned  from  the  window,  deathly  sick,  and  tot- 
tering back  to  his  bedroom,  vomited  from  sheer  nervous 
excitement. 

"  Thank  Heaven  it  is  over  and  the  rabble  gone,"  he 
said,  when  he  became  easier.  "  Go  now  and  open  all  the 
doors  and  windows  to  let  out  the  smell  they  are  sure  to 
have  left.  Ugh  !  I  get  a  whiff  of  it  now.  Burn  some 
Of  that  aromatic  paper,  but  open  the  hall  windows  first," 


THE    FUNERAL,    AND    AFTER.  127 

Charles  did  as  lie  was  ordered,  and  the  wind  was  soon 
sweeping  through  the  wide  hall,  while  Arthur's  rooms 
were  filled  with  au  odor  like  the  sweet  incense  burned  in 
the  old  cathedrals. 

"  I  am  very  giddy  and  faint/'  Arthur  said,  when 
Charles  came  back  to  him  after  his  ventilating  operation. 
"  I  have  looked  at  the  bright  snow  too  long,  and  there 
are  a  thousand  rings  of  fire  dancing  before  my  eyes,  and 
in  every  ring  I  see  a  bine  hood  and  vail,  with  waves  of 
hair  like  Gretchen's.  Wheel  me  out  there,  Charles, 
where  I  can  see  her." 

Charles  obeyed,  and  moved  the  light  bed-lounge  into 
the  library,  where  his  master  could  feast  his  eyes  upon  the 
sweet  face  which  knew  no  change,  but  which  always, 
night  and  day,  smiled  upon  him  the  same.  The  picture 
had  a  soothing  effect  upon  Arthur,  and  he  gazed  at  it  now 
until  it  began  to  fade  away  and  lose  itself  in  the  blue 
hood  and  vail  he  had  seen  in  the  sleigh  far  down  the 
avenue  ;  and  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  Charles  came  in 
to  look  at  him,  he  found  him  fast  asleep. 

Meantime  the  funeral  train  had  reached  the  cemetery, 
where  the  snow  was  piled  in  great  drifts,  and  where,  in  a 
corner  of  the  Tracy  lot,  they  buried  the  stranger,  with  no 
tear  to  hallow  her  grave,  and  no  pang  of  regret  save  that 
she  had  ever  come  there,  with  the  mystery  and  the  doubt 
which  must  always  cling  to  her  memory.  Frank  Tracy's 
face  was  very  pale  and  stern  as  he  held  little  Jerry  in 
his  arms  during  the  committal  of  the  body  to  the  grave, 
and  then  bade  her  take  one  last  look  at  the  box  which  held 
her  mother.  But  Jerry,  who  was  growing  cold  and  tired, 
began  to  cry,  and  so  Frank  took  her  back  to  the  sleigh, 
which  was  driven  to  the  cottage  in  the  lane.  Here  she 
felt  at  home  and  was  soon  supremely  happy  devouring  the 
ginger  cookie  which  Mrs.  Crawford  had  given  her,  and  in 
trying  to  pronounce  English  words  under  Harold's  teaching. 

While  the  children  were  thus  employed,  Mr.  Tracy 
was  divulging  to  Mrs.  Crawford  the  object  of  his  visit. 
He  could  hardly  explain,  he  said,  why  he  was  so  deeply 
interested  in  the  child,  except  it  were  that  her  mother  had 
died  on  his  premises. 

"  I  can't  see  her  go  to  the  poor-house,"  he  continued, 
with  a  trembling  in  his  voice  which  made  Mrs.  Crawford 


128  raff    FUNERAL,    AND    AFTER. 

wonder  a  little,  as  she  had  never  credited  him  with  much 
sympathy  for  anything  outside  his  own  family.  "I  can't 
see  her  go  to  the  poor-house,  and  I  can't  well  take  her  into 
my  family,  as  we  have  three  children  of  our  own.  But  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  care  for  her,  and  I  have  come  to 
ask  if,  for  a  compensation,  you  will  keep  her  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  grandma — say  yes!"  Harold  cried  ;  while  Jerry, 
with  her  mouth  full  of  cookie,  repeated,  "'ay  'ess." 

"  You  see  the  children  plead  for  me,"  Mr.  Tracy  said. 
"  While  she  is  young — say,  until  she  is  ten  years  old — I 
will  pay  you  three  dollars  a  week,  and  after  that  more,  if 
necessary.  I  know  you  will  be  kind  to  her,  and  that  she 
will  be  happy  here  and  well  brought  up.  Is  it  a  bargain?" 

Mrs.  Crawford  had  never  seen  him  so  interested  in  any- 
thing, and  felt  somewhat  surprised  and  puzzled,  but  she 
expressed  her  willingness  to  take  the  child  and  do  what 
she  could  for  her. 

And  so  Jerry's  future  was  settled,  and  counting  out 
twelve  dollars,  Frank  handed  them  to  Mrs.  Crawford 
saying: 

"  I  will  pay  you  for  four  weeks  in  advance,  as  you  may 
need  the  money,  and — and — perhaps — "  His  face  grew 
very  red  as  he  stammered  on,  "  perhaps  it  may  be  as  well 
not  to  tell  how  much  I  pay  you.  People — or  rather — well, 
Mrs.  Tracy  might  think  it  strange,  and  not  understand 
why  I  feel  such  an  interest  in  the  child.  I  don't  under- 
stand it  myself." 

But  he  did  understand,  and  all  the  way  from  the  cot- 
tage to  the  park,  he  kept  trying  to  reassure  himself  by 
saying: 

"  I  know  nothing  for  sure.  Arthur  is  expecting 
Gretchen,  whoever  she  may  be.  He  says  he  has  written  to 
her,  and  he  has  one  of  his  presentiments  that  she  was 
coming  on  the  night  when  this  woman  arrived,  who  is  no 
more  like  the  Gretchen  he  raves  about  than  I  am.  This 
woman  has  a  child.  He  says  Gretchen  has  none,  and  that 
he  never  saw  this  woman.  And  yet  I  find  among  the 
things  a  photograph  exactly  like  the  picture  in  the  win- 
dow, while  the  child  certainly  bears  a  resemblance  to  my 
brother,  though  no  one  else,  perhaps,  would  see  it.  Now, 
sir,"  and  he  appeared  to  be  addressing  some  unseen  person, 
from  whom  he  shrank,  for  he  drew  himself  as  far  as  was 


THE    1UNERAL,  AND    AFTER.  129 

possible  to  his  side  of  the  sleigh  and  shivered  as  he  went 
on  :  "  Now,  sir,  is  that  sufficient  proof  to  warrant  me  in 
turning  everything  topsy-turvy,  and  making  Arthur  crazier 
than  he  is?" 

"Certainly  not/'  he  heard  in  reply,  either  from  within 
or  without,  he  hardly  knew  which,  and  he  went  on  : 

"I  shall  try  to  find  out  who  the  woman  was,  of  course, 
and  where  she  came  from ;  but  how  am  I  to  do  it  ?  Arthur 
will  not  tell  me  a  word  about  Gretcheu,  or  what  she  is  to 
him.  Still,  I  mean  to  do  right  by  the  child.  Arthur  can- 
not live  many  years.  His  nerves  will  wear  him  out,  if 
nothing  else,  and  when  he  dies,  his  money  will  naturally 
come  to  me." 

"Naturally,"  his  spectral  companion  replied,  and  he 
continued  : 

"  Well,  what  I  intend  doing  is  this.  I  shall  make  my 
will,  in  which  Jerry  will  share  with  my  children,  and  I 
shall  further  draw  up  a  written  request  that  in  case  I  die 
before  my  brother,  any  money  which  may  fall  to  my  chil- 
dren from  him  shall  be  shared  equally  with  her.  I  shall, 
out  of  my  own  private  funds,  provide  for  her  support  and 
education  until  she  comes  of  age,  or  marries.  Can  any- 
thing more  be  required  of  me  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  consoling  reply  ;  and,  as  the  sleigh 
just  than  drew  up  before  his  door,  Frank  alighted  from  it, 
and  said  to  himself  as  he  ran  up  the  steps  : 

"  I  believe  I  have  been  riding  with  the  devil,  and  have 
made  a  league  with  him  I" 

He  found  the  house  thoroughly  aired  and  cleansed 
from  all  signs  of  the  recent  funeral  ;  and  when,  at  one 
o'clock,  he  sat  down  to  lunch  in  the  handsome  dining 
room,  and  sipped  his  favorite  claret,  and  ate  his  foreign 
preserves,  and  thought  how  much  comfort  and  luxury 
money  could  buy,  he  was  sure  he  had  done  well  for  himself 
and  his  children  after  him.  But  Frank  Tracy  never  knew 
real  peace  of  mind  again,  until  years  after,  when,  with  his 
sin  confessed,  he  was  freed  from  the  shadow  which  fol- 
lowed him  day  and  night,  walking  by  him  when  he  walked, 
sitting  by  him  when  ho  sat,  and  watching  by  him  when  he 
slept,  until  life  seemed  at  times  unbearable. 

He  made  his  will  as  he  had  said  he  would,  but  he  went 
to  Springfield  to  have  it  drawn  up,  for  he  knew  that  Col- 

6* 


130  THE    FUNERAL,  AND    AFTER. 

vin,  or  aiiy  lawyer  whom  he  might  employ  in  Shannon- 
dale,  would  wonder  at  it.  He  also  wrote  out  what  he 
called  his  dying  request  to  his  children,  in  case  he  should 
die  before  his  brother.  In  this  he  stated  emphatically  his 
wish  that  Jerry  should  have  her  share  of  whatever  might 
come  to  them  from  the  Tracy  estate,  the  same  as  if  she 
were  his  own  child. 

"  I  have  a  good  and  sufficient  reason  for  this/'  he 
wrote  in  conclusion,  "  and  I  enjoin  it  upon  you  to  carry 
out  my  wishes  as  readily  as  you  would  were  I  to  speak  to 
you  from  my  grave/' 

This  done,  Frank  felt  better,  and  the  shadow  at  his 
side  was  not  quite  as  real  as  it  had  been.  He  put  his  will 
and  his  dying  request  in  a  private  drawer  with  Gretchen's 
photograph  and  testament.  He  had  kept  this  last  back 
when  the  stranger's  trunk  was  sent  to  the  cottage,  think- 
ing that  if  it  were  missed  and  inquired  for,  he  could  easily 
produce  it  as  having  been  mislaid.  At  the  suggestion  of 
Mr.  St.  Claire  he  went  to  New  York,  to  the  office  of  the 
German  line  of  steamers,  and  made  inquiries  with  regard 
to  the  passengers  who  had  come  on  a  certain  ship  at  such 
a  time.  But  nothing  could  be  learned  of  any  woman  with 
a  child,  and  after  inserting  in  several  of  the  New  York 
papers  a  description  of  the  woman,  with  a  request  for  any 
information  concerning  her  which  could  be  given,  he 
returned  home,  with  a  feeling  that  he  had.  done  all  that 
could  be  required  of  him. 

He  was  very  kind  and  even  tender  to  his  brother,  who 
for  several  weeks  suffered  from  low  nervous  depression, 
which  kept  him  altogether  in  his  room,  to  which  he  refused 
to  admit  any  one  except  his  attendant  and  Frank.  He 
had  ceased  for  the  time  being  to  talk  of  Gretchen,  and 
never  inquired  for  the  child.  Once  Frank  spoke  of  her  to 
him  and  told  him  where  she  was,  and  that  she  was  learn- 
ing to  speak  English  very  rapidly,  and  growing  prettier 
every  day.  But  Arthur  did  not  seem  at  all  interested  and 
only  said  • 

"  How  can  Mrs.  Crawford  afford  to  keep  her  ?" 

Others  than  Arthur  asked  that  question,  and  among 
them  Dolly,  who,  with  a  woman's  quick  wit,  sharpened  by 
something  she  accidentally  saw,  divined  the  truth,  which 
she  wrung  at  last  from  her  husband.  There  was  a  fierce 


"  MR.     CRAZYHAN."  181 

quarrel — almost  their  first, — a  sick  headache  which  lasted 
three  days,  and  a  month  or  more  of  coldness  between  the 
married  pair,  and  then,  finding  she  could  accomplish 
nothing,  for  Frank  was  as  firm  as  a  rock,  Dolly  gave  up 
the  contest,  and  tried  by  economizing  in  various  ways,  to 
save  the  money  which  she  felt  was  taken  from  her  chil- 
dren by  the  little  girl,  who  had  become  so  dear  to  Mrs. 
Crawford,  that  she  would  not  have  parted  with  her  had 
nothing  been  paid  for  her  keeping. 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 

"  ME.  CRAZYMANj  DO  YOU  WANT  BOMB  CHERKIE8  ?" 

MOEE  than  two  years  had  passed  away  since  the  terrible 
March  night  when  the  strange  woman  was  frozen  to 
death  in  the  Tramp  House,and  her  history  was  still  shrouded 
in  mystery.  Not  a  word  had  been  heard  concerning  her, 
and  her  story  was  gradually  being  forgotten  by  the  people 
of  Shannondule.  Her  grave,  however,  was  tolerably  well 
kept,  and  every  Saturday  afternoon,  in  summer-time,  a  few 
flowers  were  put  upon  it  by  Harold.  Not  so  much  for  the 
sake  of  the  dead  as  for  the  beautiful  child  who  always 
accompanied  him,  laughing,  and  frolicking,  and  sometimes 
dancing  around  the  grave  where  he  told  her  her  mother 
was  buried. 

As  there  had  been  no  date  on  which  to  fix  Jerry's  birth, 
they  had  called  the  first  day  of  March  her  birthday,  so  that 
when  more  than  two  years  later  we  introduce  her  to  our 
readers  on  a  hot  July  morning,  she  was  said  to  be  six  years 
and  four  months  old.  In  some  respects,  however,  she 
seemed  older,  for  there  was  about  her  a  precocity  only  found 
in  children  who  have  always  associated  with  people  much 
older  than  themselves,  or  into  whose  lives  strange  experi- 
ences had  come.  In  stature  she  was  very  short,  though 
round  and  plump  as  a  partridge.  "Dutchy,"  Mrs.  Tracy 
called  her,  for  Mrs.  Tracy  did  not  like  her,  and  took  no 
pains  to  conceal  her  dislike,  though  it  was  based  upon  noth- 


132  "MR    CRAZYMAN,    DO    YOU 

ing  except  the  money  which  she  knew  was  paid  regularly  to 
Mrs.  Crawford  for  the  child's  maintenance. 

There  could  be  no  reason,  she  said  to  her  husband,  why 
he  should  support  the  child  of  a  tramp,  and  the  woman  had 
been  little  better,  judging  from  appearances,  unless,  indeed 
— and  then  she  told  what  old  Peterkin  had  said  more  than 
once,  to  the  effect  that  Jerry  Crawford,  as  she  was 
called,  was  growing  to  be  the  image  of  the  Tracys, especially 
Arthur. 

"And  if  so,"  she  added,  " you'd  better  let  Arthur  take 
care  of  her,  and  save  your  money  for  your  own  children." 

To  this  Frank  never  replied.  He  knew  better  than  old 
Peterkin  that  Jerry  was  like  his  brother,  and  that  it  was 
not  so  much  in  the  features  as  in  the  expression  and  certain 
movements  of  the  head  and  hands,  and  tones  of  the  voice 
when  she  was  in  earnest.  She  could  speak  English  very 
well  now,  and  sometimes,  when  Frank,  who  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  the  cottage,  sat  watching  her  at  her  play,  and 
listening  to  her  as  she  talked  to  herself,  as  was  her  con- 
stant habit,  he  could  have  shut  his  eyes  and  sworn  it  was 
his  brother's  voice  calling  to  him  from  the  hay-loft  or 
apple  tree  where  they  had  played  together  when  boys. 

Jerry's  favorite  amusement  was  to  make  believe  that 
either  herself,  or  a  figure  she  had  made  out  of  a  shawl,  was 
a  sick  woman,  lying  on  a  settee  which  she  converted  into  a 
bed.  Sometimes  she  was  the  nurse  and  took  care  of  the 
sick  woman,  t,o  whom  she  always  spoke  in  German,  bend- 
ing fondly  over  her,  and  occasionally  holding  up  before 
her  a  doll  which  Mrs.  St.  Claire  had  given  her,  and  which 
she  played  was  the  woman's  baby.  Then  she  would  be  the 
sick  woman  herself,  and  tying  on  the  broad  frilled  cap 
which  had  been  found  in  the  trunk,  would  slip  under  the 
covering,  and,  laying  her  head  upon  the  pillow,  go  through 
with  all  the  actions  of  some  one  very  sick,  occasionally 
hugging  and  kissing  the  doll. 

Sometimes  she  enacted  the  pantomime  of  dying.  Fold- 
ing her  hands  together  and  closing  her  eyes,  her  lips  moved, 
as  if  in  prayer,  for  a  moment,  then  stretching  out  her  feet 
she  lay  perfectly  motionless,  with  a  set  expression  on  the 
little  face  which  looked  so  comical  under  the  broad  frilled 
cap.  Then,  as  if  it  had  occurred  to  her  that  action  was 
necessary  from  some  one,  she  exchanged  places  with  the 


WANT    SOME    CHERRIES  f"  133 

lay  figure,  and  tying  the  cap  upon  its  head,  tucked  it  care- 
fully in  the  bed,  by  which  she  knelt,  and  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands,  imitated  perfectly  the  sobs  and  moans  of  a 
middle-aged  person,  mingled  occasionally  with  the  clearer, 
softer  notes  of  a  child's  crying. 

The  first  time  Frank  witnessed  this  piece  of  acting 
Jerry  had  been  at  the  cottage  a  year,  and  he  had  come  to 
pay  his  weekly  due.  Both  Mrs.  Crawford  and  Harold  were 
gone,  but  knowing  they  would  soon  return,  as  it  was  not 
their  habit  to  leave  Jerry  long  alone,  he  sat  down  to  wait, 
while  she  went  back  to  the  corner  in  the  kitchen,  which 
she  used  as  her  play-house. 

"  Somebody  is  sick  and  I  am  taking  care  of  her,"  she 
said  to  Mr.  Tracy,  who  watched  her  through  the  panto- 
mime of  the  death  scene  with  a  feeling,  when  it  was  over, 
that  he  had  seen  Grctchen  die. 

There  was  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  in  his  mind  that  the 
sick  woman  was  Gretchen,  the  nurse  the  stranger  found  in 
the  Tramp  House,  and  the  doll  baby  the  little  girl  upon 
whose  memory  that  scene  had  been  indelibly  stamped,  and 
who,  with  her  wonderful  powers  of  imitation,  could 
rehearse  it  in  every  particular.  Calling  her  to  him  after 
her  play  was  over  he  took  her  in  his  lap,  and  kissed  the 
little  gruve  face  where  the  shadow  of  the  scene  she  hud 
been  enacting  had  left  its  impress. 

"  Jerry,"  he  said,  "  that  lady  who  just  died  in  the  bed 
with  the  cap  on  was  your  mamma,  was  it  not?" 

"  'Ess,"  was  Jerry's  reply,  for  she  still  adhered  to  her 
first  pronunciation  of  the  word. 

"  And  the  other  was  the  nurse?" 

"  'Ess,"  Jerry  said  again;  "  Muh-nee." 

This  was  puzzling,  for  he  had  always  supposed  that  by 
"  mah-nee"  the  child  meant  "  mam-ma;"  but  he  went  on: 

"  Try  to  understand  me,  Jerry;  try  to  think  away  back 
before  you  came  in  the  ship." 

"  'Ess,  I  vill,"  she  said,  with  a  very  wise  look  on  her 
face,  while  Mr.  Tracy  continued: 

"  Had  you  a  papa  ?     Was  he  there  with  you?" 

"  Nein,"  was  the  prompt  reply,  and  Mr.  Tracy  con- 
tinued: 

"  Where  did  your  mamma  live?  Was  it  in  Wies- 
baden?" 


134  "MR.    CRAZTMAN,    DO    YOU 

He  knew  he  did  not  pronounce  the  word  right,  and  was 
surprised  at  the  sudden  lighting  up  of  the  child's  eyes  as 
she  tried  to  repeat  the  name.  "  Oo-oo-ee,"  she  began, 
with  a  tremendous  effort,  but  the  W  mastered  her,  and  she 
gave  it  up  with  a  shake  of  her  head. 

"  I  not  say  dat  oo-oo-ee,"  she  said,  and  he  put  the  ques- 
tion in  another  form : 

"  Where  did  your  mamma  die  ?" 

"  Tamp  House ;  foze  to  deff,"  was  the  ready  answer, 
and  a  natural  one,  too,  for  she  had  been  taught  by  Harold 
that  such  was  the  case,  and  had  often  gone  with  him  to  the 
house,  which  was  now  shunned  alike  by  tramps  and  boys. 

No  one  picnicked  there  now,  for  the  place  was  said  to 
be  haunted,  and  the  superstitious  ones  told  each  other  that 
on  stormy  nights,  when  the  wild  winds  were  abroad,  lights 
had  been  seen  in  the  Tramp  House,  where  a  pale-faced 
woman,  with  her  long,  black  hair  streaming  down  her 
back,  stood  in  the  door-way,  shrieking  for  help,  while  the 
cry  of  a  child  mingled  with  her  call.  But  Harold  shared 
none  of  these  fancies.  He  was  not  afraid  of  the  building, 
and  often  went  there  with  Jerry,  and  sitting  with  her  on 
the  table,  told  her  again  and  again  how  he  had  found  her 
mother  that  wintry  morning,  and  how  funny  she  herself 
had  looked  in  the  old  carpet-bag,  and  so  it  is  not  strange 
that  when  Mr.'  Tracy  asked  her  where  her  mother  died,  she 
should  answer,  "  In  the  Tramp  House/'  although  she  had 
acted  a  pantomime  whose  reality  must  have  taken  place 
under  very  different  circumstances. 

"  Of  course  she  died  in  the  Tramp  House,  and  I  have 
nothing  with  which  to  reproach  myself.  I  am  altogether 
too  morbid  on  the  subject/'  Frank  said,  and  he  had 
decided  that  he  was  a  pretty  good  sort  of  fellow,  after  all, 
when  at  last  Mrs.  Crawford  came  in,  and  he  paid  her  for 
Jerry's  board. 

"  In  some  respects  he  was  doing  his  duty  by  the  child, 
who,  as  time  went  on  learned  to  love  him  better  than  any 
one  else  except  Harold  and  Mrs.  Crawford,  whom  she 
called  grandma.  She  always  ran  to  meet  him  when  he 
came  and  sometimes  when  he  went  away  accompanied  him 
down  the  lane,  holding  his  hand  and  asking  him  about 
Tracy  Park  and  Maude  and  the  crazy  man. 

This  was  Harold's  designation  of  Mr.  Arthur,  and  per- 


WANT    SOME    CHERRIES?"  135 

haps  of  all  the  things  at  Tracy  Park,  Jerry  was  most  desir- 
ous to  see  him  and  his  rooms.  Harold,  who,  on  one  of 
the  rare  occasions  when  Arthur  was  out  to  dine,  had  been 
sent  to  the  house  on  an  errand,  had  gone  with  Jack  into 
these  rooms,  which  he  described  minutely  to  his  grand- 
mother and  Jerry,  dwelling  longest  upon  the  beautiful 
picture  in  the  window.  "  Gretchen,  he  calls  it/'  he  said  ; 
and  then  Jerry,  who  was  listening  intently,  gave  a  sudden 
upward  and  side-wise  turn  to  her  head,  just  as  she  had 
done  when  Mr.  Tracy  spok  to  her  of  Wiesbaden. 

"  Detchen,"  she  repeated,  with  a  little  hesitancy.  "  Vat 
the  name  was  ?  Say  again." 

He  said  it  again,  and  over  the  child's  face  there  came  a 
puzzled  expression,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  recall  some- 
thing which  baffled  all  her  efforts,  and  that  evening  Mrs. 
Crawford  heard  her  saying  to  herself,  "  Detchen,  Detcheu, 
who  am  she  ?" 

Jerry  had  seen  Maude  Tracy  many  times,  and  had 
admired  her  greatly,  with  her  pretty  white  dresses  and 
costly  embroideries;  and  once,  at  church,  when  Maude 
passed  near  where  she  was  standing,  she  stood  back  as  far 
as  possible  and  held  her  plain  gingham  dress  aside,  as  if 
neither  it  nor  herself  had  any  right  to  come  in  contact 
with  so  superior  a  being.  Of  Maude's  home  she  knew 
nothing,  except  that  it  was  a  place  to  be  admired  and 
gazed  at  breathlessly  at  a  respectful  distance.  But  she 
was  going  there  at  last  with  Harold,  who  had  permission 
to  gather  cherries  for  his  grandmother  from  some  of  the 
many  trees  which  grew  upon  the  place. 

It  was  a  hot  morning  in  July,  and  the  air  seemed  thun- 
derous and  heavy  when  she  set  off  on  what  to  her  was  as 
important  an  expedition  as  is  a  trip  to  Europe  to  an  older 
person.  She  wanted  to  wear  her  pink  gingham  dress,  the 
one  kept  sacred  for  Sunday,  and  had  even  hoped  that  she 
might  be  allowed  to  display  her  best  straw  hat  with  the 
blue  ribbons  and  cluster  of  apple  blossoms.  She  had  no 
doubt  that  she  should  go  into  the  house  and  see  the  crazy 
man,  and  Mrs.  Tracy,  who  she  heard  wore  silk  stockings 
every  day,  and  she  wished  to  be  suitably  attired  for  the 
-ion. 

But  Mrs.  Crawford  dispelled  her  air-castles  by  telling 
her  that  she  was  only  to  go  into  the  side  yard  where  tho 


136  "MR.     CRAZ7MAN,    DO    YOU 

cherry  trees  were,  and  that  she  must  be  very  quiet,  so  as 
not  to  disturb  Mr.  Arthur,  whose  windows  looked  tnat 
way.  To  wear  her  pink  dress  was  impossible,  as  she  would 
get  it  stained  with  the  juice  of  the  cherries,  while  the  best 
hat  was  not  for  a  moment  to  be  thought  of. 

So  Jerry  submitted  to  the  dark  calico  frock  and  high- 
necked,  long-sleeved  apron  which  Mrs.  Crawford  thought 
safe  and  proper  for  her  to  wear  on  a  cherry  expedition.  A 
clean,  white  sun-bonnet  with  a  wide  cape  covered  her  head 
when  she  started  from  the  cottage,  with  her  tin  pail  on  her 
arm  ;  but  no  sooner  was  she  in  the  path  which  led  to  the 
park  than  the  obnoxious  bonnet  was  removed  and  was 
swinging  on  her  arm,  while  she  was  admiring  the  shadow 
which  her  long  bright  curls  made  in  the  sunshine  as  she 
shook  her  head  from  side  to  side. 

To  tell  the  truth,  our  little  Jerry  was  rather  vain. 
Passionately  fond  of  pictures  and  flowers,  and  quick  to 
detect  everything  beautiful  both  in  art  and  nature,  she 
knew  that  the  little  face  she  sometimes  saw  in  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford's old-fashioned  mirror  was  pretty,  and  after  the  day 
when  Dick  St.  Claire  told  her  that  her  hair  was  "  awful 
handsome,"'  she  had  felt  a  pride  in  it,  and  in  herself, 
which  all  Mrs.  Crawford's  asseverations  that  "  Handsome 
is  that  handsome  does  "  could  not  destroy.  Maude  Tracy's 
hair  was  black  and  straight,  and  here  she  felt  she  had  the 
advantage  over  her. 

"I  do  hope  we  shall  see  her,"  she  said  to  Harold,  as 
she  danced  along.  "  Do  you  think  we  shall  ?" 

Harold  thought  it  doubtful,  and,  even  if  they  did,  it 
was  not  likely  she  would  speak  to  them,  he  said. 

' '  Why  not  ?"  Jerry  asked,  and  he  replied  : 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  they  feel  big  because  they  are  rich  and 
we  are  poor." 

"But  why  ain't  I  rich,  too  ?  Why  don't  I  live  at  the 
park  like  Maude,  and  wear  low-necked  aprons  instead  of 
this  old  high  one  ?"  Jerry  asked ;  but  Harold  could  not 
tell,  and  only  said  : 

"  Would  you  rather  live  at  the  park  than  with  me  ?" 

"  No,"  Jerry  answered,  promptly,  stopping  short  and 
digging  her  heel  into  the  soft  loam  of  the  path.  "  I  would 
not  stay  anywhere  without  you  ;  and  when  I  live  at  the 


WANT    SOME    CHERRIES f"  137 

park  you  will  live  there  too,  and  have  codfish  and  tatoe 
every  day." 

This  was  Harold's  favorite  dish,  and,  as  it  was  not  his 
grandmother's,  his  taste  was  not  gratified  in  that  respect 
as  often  as  he  would  have  liked  ;  hence  Jerry's  promise  of 
the  luxury. 

Just  then,  at  a  sudden  turn  in  the  path,  they  came 
upon  Jack  and  Maude  Tracy  playing  on  a  bench  under  a 
tree,  while  the  nurse  was  at  a  distance  either  reading  or 
asleep.  Harold  would  have  passed  them  at  once,  as  he 
knew  his  grandmother  was  in  a  hurry  for  the  cherries,  but 
Jerry  had  no  such  intention. 

Stopping  in  front  of  Maude,  she  inspected  her  carefully, 
from  her  white  dress  and  bright  plaid  sash,  to  the  string  of 
amber  beads  around  her  neck  ;  while,  side  by  side  with 
this  picture,  she  saw  herself  in  her  dark  calico  frock  and 
high-necked  apron,  with  her  sun-bonnet  and  tin  pail  on 
her  arm.  Jerry  did  not  like  the  contrast,  and  a  lump 
began  to  swell  in  her  throat.  Then,  as  a  happy  thought 
struck  her,  she  said,  with  something  like  exultation  in  her 
tone  : 

"  My  hair  curls  and  yours  don't/' 

"  No,"  Maude  answered,  slowly — "  no,  it  don't  curl, 
but  it's  black,  and  yours  is  yaller." 

This  was  a  set-back  to  Jerry,  who  hated  everything 
yellow,  and  who  had  never  dreamed  of  applying  that  color 
to  her  hair.  She  only  knew  that  Dick  St.  Claire  hud 
called  it  pretty,  but  in  this  new  light  thrown  upon  it  all 
her  pride  vanished,  for  she  recognized  like  a  flash  that  it 
might  be  "yaller,"  and  stood  there  silent  and  vanquished, 
until  Maude,  who  in  turn  had  been  regarding  her  atten- 
tively, said  to  her : 

"  Ain't  you  Jerry  Crawford  ?" 

That  broke  the  ice  of  reserve,  and  the  two  little  girls 
were  soon  talking  together  familiarly,  and  Jerry  was  ask- 
ing Maude  if  she  wore  beads  and  her  best  clothes  every 
day. 

"  Pooh  !  These  ain't  my  best  clothes.  I  have  one  gown 
all  bruwdery  and  lace,"  was  Maude's  reply,  while  Jack, 
who  was  standing  near,  chimed  in  : 

"My  father's  got  lots  of  money,  and  so    has  Uncle 


108  "MR.     CRAZYMAN." 

Arthur,  and  \vlien  he  dies  we  are  going  to  have  it ;  Tom 
says  so." 

Slowly  the  shadows  gathered  on  Jerry's  brow  as  she 
said,  sadly : 

"I  wish  I  had  an  Uncle  Arthur,  and  could  wear  beads 
and  a  sash  every  day."  Then,  as  she  looked  at  Harold,  her 
face  brightened  immediately  and  she  exclaimed,  "But  I 
have  Harold  and  a  grandma,  and  you  hain't/'  and  running 
up  to  Harold,  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
kissed  him  lovingly,  as  if  to  make  amends  for  the  momen- 
tary repining. 

"  We  must  go  now,"  Harold  said,  and  taking  her  hand 
he  led  her  away  toward  the  house,  which  impressed  her 
with  so  much  awe  that  as  she  drew  near  to  it,  she  held  her 
breath  and  walked  on  tiptoe,  as  if  afraid  that  any  sound 
from  her  would  be  sacrilege  in  that  aristocratic  atmosphere. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  grand,  Harold  ?  Isn't  it  grand  ?"  she 
kept  repeating,  with  her  mouth  full  of  cherries,  after  they 
had  reached  the  trees  on  which  the  ripe,  red  fruit  hung  so 
thickly.  "  Do  you  s'pose  we  shall  see  the  crazyman  ?"  she 
asked,  and  Harold  replied  : 

'•'  I  guess  not,  unless  he  comes  to  the  window.  Those 
are  his  rooms,  and  that  window  which  looks  so  ugly  out- 
side, is  the  one  with  the  picture  in  it,"  and  he  pointed  to 
the  south  wing,  most  of  the  windows  of  which  were  open, 
while  against  one  a  long  ladder  was  standing. 

It  had  been  left  there  by  a  workman  who  had  been  up 
to  fix  the  hinge  of  a  blind,  and  who  had  gone  to  the  village 
in  quest  of  something  he  needed.  Jerry  saw  the  ladder 
and  its  close  proximity  to  the  open  window,  and  she 
thought  to  herself, 

"I  mean  to  fill  my  pail  with  cherries,  and  go  up  that 
ladder  and  take  them  to  him.  I  wonder  if  he  will  bite 
me?" 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word  she  stopped  eating,  and 
began  to  pick  from  the  lower  limbs  as  rapidly  as  possible 
until  her  pail  was  full. 

"  Pour  them  into  the  basket,"  Harold  called  to  her 
from  the  top  of  the  tree,  but  Jerry  did  not  heed  him.  She 
had  seen  the  tall  figure  of  a  man  pass  before  the  window, 
and  a  pale,  thin  face  had  for  a  moment  looked  out, 
apparently  to  discover  whence  the  talking  came. 


ARTHUR    AND    JERRY.  139 

"  I'm  going  to  take  the  crazyman  some  cherries,"  she 
cried,  and  before  Harold  could  protest,  she  was  half  way 
up  the  ladder,  which  she  climbed  with  the  agility  of  a  lit- 
tle cat. 

"  Jerry,  Jerry  !  What  are  you  doing  ?"  Harold  ex- 
claimed, "  Come  back  this  minute.  He  doesn't  like  chil- 
drea  ;  he  tried  to  throw  me  over  the  banister  once  ;  he  will 
knock  you  off  the  ladder  ;  oh,  Jerry  !"  aud  Harold's  voice 
was  almost  a  sob  as  he  watched  the  girl  going  up  round 
after  round  until  the  top  was  reached,  and  she  stood  with 
hor  flushed,  eager  face,  just  on  a  level  with  the  window, 
so  that  by  standing  on,  tiptoe,  she  could  look  into  the 
room. 

It  was  Arthur's  bedroom,  and  there  was  no  one  in  it, 
but  she  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  adjoining 
apartment,  and  raising  herself  as  far  as  possible,  and  hold- 
ing up  her  pail,  she  called  out  in  a  clear,  shrill  voice  : 

'•'Mr.  Crazyman,  Mr.  Crazyman,  don't  you  want  some 
cherries  ?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ARTHUR    AND   JERRY. 

A  RTHTJR  had  passed  a  restless  night.  Thoughts  of 
-£*•  Gretchen  had  troubled  him  and  two  or  three  times 
he  had  started  up  to  listen,  thinking  that  he  heard  her  call- 
ing to  him  from  a  distance.  He  had  dreamed  also  of  the 
blue  hood  seen  that  day  of  the  funeral,  and  of  the  child  who 
had  come  knocking  at  his  door  whom  he  had  refused  to 
admit.  He  had  never  seen  her  since,  and  had  never  men- 
tioned her  of  his  own  accord. 

Even  Mrs.  Crawford  seemed  to  have  passed  completely 
from  his  mind.  He  never  went  to  the  cottage,  or  near  it. 
He  never  went  anywhere,  in  fact,  but  lived  the  life  of  a 
recluse,  growing  thinner,  and  paler,  and  more  reticent 
every  day,  talking  now  but  seldom  of  Gretchen,  though  he 
never  arose  in  the  morning  or  retired  at  night  without 


140  ARTHUR    AND    JERET. 

kissing  her  picture  and  whispering  to  it  some  words  of 
tenderness  in  German. 

He  hud  measured  the  length  of  his  three  rooms  and 
dressing-room,  and  found  it  to  be  nearly  one  hundred 
feet,  so  that  by  passing  back  and  forth  twenty-five  times 
he  would  walk  almost  a  mile. 

Regularly  each  morning,  when  it  was  not  too  cold  or 
stormy,  he  would  throw  open  his  windows  and  take  his 
daily  exercise,  which  was  but  a  poor  substitute  for  what 
he  might  have  had  in  the  fresh  air  outside,  but  was  never- 
theless much  better  than  nothing. 

On  this  particular  morning,  when  Harold  and  Jerry 
were  at  the  park,  he  was  taking  his  walk  as  usual,  though 
very  slowly,  for  he  felt  weak  and  sick,  and,  so  inexpressi- 
bly lonely  and  desolate  that  it  seemed  to  him  he  would 
gladly  lie  down  and  die. 

"  If  I  knew  Grretcben  was  dead,  nothing  would  seem  so 
desirable  to  me  as  the  grave,"  he  was  saying  to  himself, 
when  the  sound  of  voices  outside  attracted  his  attention, 
and  going  to  the  window,  he  saw  the  children,  Harold  in 
the  top  of  the  tree,  and  Jerry  at  the  foot,  with  her  white 
sun-bonnet  shading  her  face. 

Recognizing  Harold,  he  guessed  who  the  little  girl  was, 
and  a  strange  feeling  of  interest  stirred  in  his  heart  for  her, 
as  he  said  : 

"  Poor  little  waif  !  I  wonder  where  she  came  from,  or 
what  will  become  of  her  ?" 

Then,  resuming  his  walk,  he  forgot  all  about  the  little 
waif,  until  startled  by  a  voice  which  rang,  clear  and  bell- 
like,  through  the  rooms  : 

"  Mr.  Crazy  man  !  Mr.  Orazyman  !  don't  you  want 
some  cherries  ?" 

It  was  not  so  much  the  words  as  something  in  the  tone, 
the  foreign  accent,  the  ring  like  a  voice  he  never  could  for- 
get, and  which  the  previous  night  had  called  to  him  in  his 
dreams.  And  now  it  was  calling  again  from  the  adjoining 
room,  which  no  one  could  enter  without  his  knowledge. 

Mentally  weak  as  he  was,  and  apt  to  be  superstitious, 
his  limbs  shook,  and  his  heart  beat  faster  than  its  wont,  as 
he  went  toward  his  sleeping-apartment,  from  which  the 
voice  came  louder  and  more  peremptory  : 


ARTHUR    AND    JERRY.  141 

"  Mr.  Crazyman  !  where  are  you  ?  I've  brought  you 
some  cherries." 

He  had  reached  the  door  by  this  time,  and  saw  the  pail 
on  the  broad  window-ledge  where  Jerry  had  put  it,  and  to 
which  she  was  clinging,  with  her  white  sun-bonnet  just  in 
view. 

"  Oh,  Gretchen  !  how  did  you  get  here  ?"  he  said, 
bounding  across  the  floor,  with  no  thought  of  Jerry  in  his 
mind,  no  thought  of  any  one  but  Gretchen,  whom  he  was 
constantly  expecting  to  come,  though  not  exactly  in  this 
way. 

"  I  climbed  the  ladder  to  fetch  you  some  cherries,  and 
I'm  standing  on  the  toppest  stick,"  Jerry  said,  craning 
her  neck  until  her  bonnet  fell  back,  disclosing  to  view 
her  beautiful  face  flushed  with  excitement,  and  her  bright 
wavy  hair,  which,  moist  with  perspiration,  clung  in  masses 
of  round  curls  to  her  head  and  forehead. 

"Great  Heaven!"  Arthur  exclaimed,  as  he  stood  star- 
ing at  the  wide-open  blue  eyes  confronting  him  so  steadily. 
"  Who  are  you,  and  where  did  you  come  from?" 

"  I'm  Jerry,  and  I  corned  from  the  carpet-bag  in  the 
Tramp  House.  Take  me  in,  won't  you?"  Jerry  said  ;  and, 
mechanically  leaning  from  the  window,  Arthur  took  her 
in,  while  Harold  from  below  looked  on,  horror-stricken 
with  fear  as  to  what  the  result  might  be  if  Jerry  were  left 
alone  with  a  madman  who  did  not  like  children. 

"He  may  kill  her;  I  must  tell  the  folks,"  he  said;  and, 
going  round  to  the  side  door,  he  entered,  without  knock- 
ing, and  asked  for  Mrs.  Tracy. 

But  she  was  not  at  home,  and  so  he  told  the  servants  of 
Jerry's  danger,  and  begged  them  to  go  to  her  rescue. 

"  Pshaw!  he  won't  hurt  her.  Charles  will  come  pretty 
soon,  and  I'll  send  him  up.  Don't  look  so  scared;  he  is 
harmless,"  the  cook  said  to  Harold,  who,  in  a  wild  state  of 
nervous  fear,  went  back  to  the  cherry  trees,  where  he  , 
could  listen  and  hear  the  first  scream  which  should  pro- 
claim Jerry's  danger. 

But  none  came,  and  could  he  have  looked  into  the 
room  where  Jerry  stood,  he  would  have  been  amazed. 

As  Arthur  lifted  Jerry  through  the  window,  and  put 
her  down  upon  the  floor,  he  said  to  her: 

"Take  off  that  bonnet  aud  let  me  look  at  you." 


1-13  AETHUU    AND    JERRY. 

She  obeyed,  and  stood  before  him  with  an  eager,  ques- 
tioning expression  in  her  blue  eyes,  which  looked  at  him 
so  fearlessly.  Arthur  knew  perfectly  well  who  she  was, 
but  something  about  her  so  dazed  and  bewildered  him  that 
for  a  moment  he  could  not  speak,  but  regarded  her  with 
the  hungry,  wistful  look  of  one  longing  for  something  just 
within  his  reach,  but  still  unattainable. 

"  Do  you  like  me?"  Jerry  asked,  at  last. 

"  Like  you  ?"  he  replied.  "  Yes.  Why  did  you  not 
come  to  me  sooner?" 

And,  stooping,  he  kissed  the  cherry-stained  mouth  as 
he  had  never  kissed  a  child  before. 

Sitting  down  upon  the  lounge,  he  took  her  in  his  lap 
and  said  to  her  again: 

"Who  are  you,  and  where  did  you  come  from?  I 
know  your  name  is  Jerry,  which  is  a  strange  one  for  a 
girl,  and  I  know  you  live  with  Mrs.  Crawford,  but  before 
that  night  where  did  you  live?  Where  did  you  come 
from?" 

"  Out  of  the  carpet-bag  in  the  Tramp  House.  I  told 
you  that  once,"  Jerry  said.  "  Harold  found  me.  I  am  his 
little  girl.  He  is  out  in  the  cherry  tree,  and  said  I  must 
not  come  up,  because  you  were  crazy  and  would  hurt  me. 
You  won't  hurt  me,  will  you  ?  And  be  you  crazy  ?" 

"  Hurt  you  ?  No,"  he  answered,  as  he  parted  the  rings 
of  hair  from  her  brow.  "  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  crazy 
or  not.  They  say  so,  and  perhaps  I  am,  when  my  head  is 
full  of  bumble-bees." 

"  Oh-h  !"  Jerry  gasped,  drawing  back  from  him.  "  Can 
they  get  out  ?  And  will  they  sting  ?" 

Arthur  burst  into  a  merry  laugh,  the  first  he  had 
known  since  he  came  back  to  Shannondale.  Jerry  was 
doing  him  good.  There  was  something  very  soothing  in 
the  touch  of  the  little  warm  hands  he  held  in  his,  and  some- 
thing puzzling  and  fascinating,  too,  in  the  face  of  the 
child.  He  did  not  think  of  a  likeness  to  any  one  ;  he  only 
knew  that  he  felt  drawn  toward  her  in  a  most  unaccount- 
able manner,  and  found  himself  wondering  greatly  who  she 
was. 

' '  Harold  told  me  there  were  pictures  and  marble  folks 
up  here  with  nothing  on,  and  everything,  and  that's  why  I 


ARTHUR    AND    JERR7.  143 

corned — that  and  to  bring  you  some  cherries.  I  like  pic- 
tures. Can  I  see  them  ?"  .Terry  said. 

"  Yes,  you  shall  see  them,"  Arthur  replied  ;  and  he  led 
her  into  the  room  where  Gretchen's  picture  looked  at  them 
from  the  window. 

"  Oh,  my  I"  Jerry  exclaimed,  with  bated  breath.  "  Ain't 
she  lovely  !  Is  she  God's  sister  ?"  and  folding  her  hands 
together,  she  stood  before  the  picture  as  reverently  as  a 
devout  Catholic  stands  before  a  Madonna. 

It  was  some  time  since  Jerry  had  spoken  a  word  of 
German,  but  as  she  stood  before  Gretchen's  picture  old 
memories  seemed  to  revive,  and  with  them  the  German 
word  for  pretty,  which  she  involuntarily  spoke  aloud. 

Low  as  was  the  utterance,  it  caught-  Arthur's  ear,  and 
grasping  her  shoulder,  he  said  : 

"  What  was  that !  What  did  you  say,  and  where  did 
you  learn  it  ?" 

His  manner  frightened  her ;  perhaps  the  bumble-bees 
were  coming  out,  and  she  drew  back  from  him,  forgetting 
entirely  what  she  had  said. 

"  It  was  a  German  word/'  he  continued,  "  and  the  ac- 
cent is  German,  too.  Can  you  speak  it  ?" 

Unconsciously,  as  he  talked,  he  dropped  into  that 
language,  while  Jerry  listened,  with  a  strained  look  on  her 
face,  as  if  trying  to  recall  something  which  came  and  went, 
but  went  more  than  it  came,  if  that  could  be. 

"I  talked  that  once,"  she  said,  "when  I  lived  with 
mamma ;  but  she  is  dead.  Harold  found  her,  and  I  put 
flowers  on  her  grave." 

Half  the  time  she  was  speaking  in  German,  or  trying 
to,  and  Arthur  listened  in  amazement,  while  his  interest 
in  her  deepened  every  moment,  as  he  took  her  through  the 
rooms  and  showed  her  "the  marble  people  with  nothing 
on  them,"  and  the  beautiful  pictures  which  adorned  his 
walls. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  come  and  be  my  little  girl  ?" 
he  asked  her  at  last,  when,  remembering  Harold  and  the 
cherries,  she  told  him  she  must  go,  and  started  toward  the 
window,  as  if  she  would  make  her  egress  as  she  had 
come  in. 

"Can  Harold  come,  too  ?  I  can't  leave  Harold,"  she 
said.  Then,  as  she  caught  sight  of  him  still  standing  at  a 


144  ARTHUR    AND    JERRY. 

distance,  gazing  curiously  up  at  the  window  through 
which  she  had  disappeared,  she  called  out  :  "  Yes,  Harold, 
I'm  coming.  I've  seen  him  and  everything,  and  he  did 
not  hurt  me.  G-ood-by  \"  and  she  turned  toward  Arthur 
with  a  little  nod. 

Then,  before  he  could  stop  her,  she  sprang  out  upon 
the  ladder,  and  went  down  faster  than  she  had  come  up, 
leaving  the  pail  of  cherries,  and  leaving,  too,  in  Arthur's 
breast  a  tumult  of  emotions  which  he  could  not  define. 

That  night,  when  Frank,  who  had  heard  of  Jerry's 
visit  to  his  brother,  went  up  to  see  him,  he  found  him  more 
cheerful  and  natural  than  he  had  seen  him  in  weeks.  As 
Frank  expected,  his  first  words  were  of  the  little  girl  who 
had  come  to  him  through  the  window  and  left  him  the 
cherries,  of  which  he  said  he  had  eaten  so  many  that  he 
feared  they  might  make  him  sick.  What  did  Frank  know 
of  the  child  ?  What  had  he  learned  of  her  history  ?  Of 
course  he  had  made  inquiries  everywhere  ? 

It  was  just  in  the  twilight,  before  the  gas  was  lighted, 
and  so  Arthur  did  not  see  how  his  brother's  face  flushed  at 
first,  and  then  grew  white  as  he  recapitulated  what  the 
reader  already  knows,  dwelling  at  length  upon  the  inquiries 
he  had  made  in  New  York,  all  of  which  had  been  fruitless. 
There  was  the  name  Jerrine  on  the  child's  clothing,  he 
said,  and  the  initials  "  N.  B."  on  that  of  her  mother,  who 
was  evidently  French,  although  she  must  have  come  from 
Germany. 

"  Yes/'  Arthur  replied,  "  the  child  is  a  German,  and 
interests  me  greatly.  Her  face  has  haunted  me  all  the 
afternoon.  Was  there  nothing  in  that  trunk  or  the  carpet- 
bag which  would  be  a  clew  ?" 

"Nothing,"  Frank  replied.  "There  were  articles  of 
clothing,  all  very  plain,  and  a  picture  book  printed  at  Leip- 
sic.  I  can  get  that  for  you  if  you  like,  though  it  tells 
nothing,  unless  it  be  that  the  mother  lived  in  Leipsic." 

Frank  talked  very  rapidly,  and  laid  so  much  stress  on 
Leipsic,  that  Arthur  got  an  idea  that  Jerry  had  actually 
come  from  there,  just  as  his  brother  meant  he  should,  and 
he  began  to  speak  of  the  town  and  recall  all  he  knew  of  it. 

"I  was  never  there  but  once,"  he  said  "  for  although 
I  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  Germany,  it  was  mostly 
in  Heidelberg  and  Wiesbaden.  Oh,  that  is  lovely  — Wies- 


ARTHUR    AND    JERRY.  145 

baden — and  nights  now,  when  I  cannot  sleep,  I  fancy 
that  I  am  there  again,  in  the  lovely  park,  and  hear  the 
music  of  the  band,  and  see  the  crowds  of  people  strolling 
through  the  grounds,  and  I  am  there  with  them,  though 
apart  from  the  rest,  just  where  a  narrow  path  turns  off 
from  a  bridge,  and  a  seat  is  half  hidden  from  view  behind 
the  thick  shubberies.  There  I  sit  again  with  Gretchen, 
and  feel  her  hand  in  mine,  and  her  dear  head  on  my  arm. 
Oh,  Gretchen—" 

There  was  a  sob  now  in  his  voice,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
talking  to  himself  rather  than  to  his  brother,  who  said  to 
him, 

"Gretchen  lived  in  Wiesbaden  then  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  for  Heaven's  sake  pronounce  it  with  a  V, 
and  not  a  W,  and  in  three  syllables  instead  of  four,"  Arthur 
answered,  pettishly,  his  ear  offended  as  it  always  was  with 
a  discordant  sound  or  mispronunciation. 

"  Veesbaden  then,"  Frank  repeated,  understanding  now 
why  Jerry  had  stumbled  over  the  name  when  he  once  spoke 
it  to  her. 

Clearly  she  had  come  from  "Wiesbaden,  where  Gretchen 
had  lived,  and  where  he  believed  she  had  died,  though  he 
did  not  tell  Arthur  so  ;  he  merely  said  : 

"  Gretchen  was  your  sweetheart,  I  suppose  ?" 

But  Arthur  did  not  reply;  he  never  replied  to  direct 
questions  as  to  who  Gretchen  was;  but  after  a  moment's 
silence  lie  said  : 

"  You  speak  of  her  as  something  past.  Do  you  believe 
she  is  dead  ?'' 

"Yes,  I  do,"  was  Frank's  decided  answer.  "You  have 
never  told  me  who  she  was,  though  I  have  my  own  opinion 
on  the  subject,  and  I  know  you  loved  her  very  much,  and  if 
she  loved  you  as  much — " 

"  She  did — she  did  ;  she  loved  me  more — far  more  than 
I  deserved,"  was  Arthur's  vehement  interruption. 

"  AVell  then,"  Frank  continued,  "If  she  did,  and  were 
living,  sho  would  have  come  to  you,  or  answered  your  let- 
ters, or  sent  you  some  message." 

Frank's  voice  trembled  here,  and  beseemed  to  see  again 
the  cold,  still  face  of  the  dead  woman,  whose  lips,  could 
they  have  spoken,  might  have  unlocked  the  mystery  and 
brought  a  message  from  Gretchcn. 


146  ARTHUR    AND    JERRY. 

"True,  true,"  Arthur  replied.  "She  would  have 
come  or  written.  How  long  is  it  since  I  came  home  ?" 

"  Four  years  next  October/'  Frank  said. 

"  Four  years  ;  "  Arthur  went  on,  "  is  it  so  long  as  that? 
and  it  was  then  years  since  I  had  seen  her.  Every  thing 
was  blotted  out  from  my  mind  from  the  time  I  entered 
that  accursed  Maison  de  Kante  until  I  found  myself  in 
Paris.  I  am  afraid  she  is  dead." 

Just  then  Charles  came  in  with  lights,  and  the  choco- 
late his  master  always  took  before  retiring,  and  so  Frank 
said  good-night,  and  went  out  upon  the  broad  piazza,  hop- 
ing the  night  air  would  cool  his  heated  brow,  or  that  the 
laughter  and  prattle  of  Jack  and  Maude,  who  were  frolic- 
ing  on  the  gravel  walk,  would  drown  the  voice  which  said 
to  him  : 

"  Frank  Tracy,  you  are  the  biggest  rascal  living,  but 
you  have  gone  too  far  now  to  go  back.  People  would 
never  respect  you  again.  And  then  there  is  Maude.  You 
cannot  disgrace  her." 

No,  he  could  not  disgrace  his  darling  Maude,  who,  as 
if  guessing  that  he  was  thinking  of  her,  came  up  the  steps 
to  his  side,  and  seating  herself  upon  his  lap,  pushed  the 
hair  from  his  forehead  and  kissed  him  lovingly. 

"  My  beautiful  Maude,"  he  thought,  for  he  knew  she 
would  be  beautiful,  with  her  black  hair,  and  starry  eyes, 
and  brilliant  complexion,  and  he  loved  her  with  all  the 
strength  of  his  nature.  To  see  her  grow  into  womanhood, 
admired  and  sought  after  by  every  one,  was  the  desire  of 
his  heart,  and  as  he  believed  that  money  was  necessary  to 
the  perfect  fulfilment  of  his  desire,  for  her  sake  he  would 
carry  his  secret  to  the  grave. 

"  Are  you  sick,  papa  ?"  Maude  asked,  looking  into  his 
face,  on  which  the  moon  shone  brightly, 

"No,  pet,"  he  answered  her;  "only  tired.  I  am 
thinking  of  little  Jerry  Crawford.  She  was  here  this 
afternoon." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her  in  the  park  with  Harold.  Isn't  he 
handsome,  papa  ?  and  such  a  nice  boy  !  so  different  from 
Tom,"  Maude  said,  and  then  she  went  on  :  "  Jerry  is 
pretty,  too  ;  prettier  than  I  am  ;  her  hair  curls  and  mine 
doesn't,  but  her  dress  is  so  ugly — that  old  high  apron 


Jsmt.  14? 

and  calico  gown.  What  makes  her  so  poor  and  me  so 
rich  ?" 

Mr.  Tracy  groaned,  as  he  replied  : 

"  You  are  not  rich,  my  child." 

"  Oh,  yes  I  am,"  Maude  said.  "I  heard  mamma  tell 
Mrs.  Brinsmade  so.  She  said  Uncle  Arthur  was  worth 
millions  and  when  he  died  we  should  have  it  all,  because 
he  could  not  make  a  will  if  he  wanted  to,  and  he  had  no 
children  of  his  own." 

Maude  had  heard  so  much  from  her  mother  and  others 
of  their  prospective  wealth,  that  she  understood  the  situa- 
tion far  better  than  she  ought,  and  was  already  counting  on 
the  thousands  waiting  for  her  when  her  uncle  died.  And 
yet  Maude  Tracy  had  in  her  nature  qualities  which  were  to 
ripen  into  a  noble  womanhood.  Truthful  and  generous, 
her  instincts  of  right  and  wrong  were  very  keen,  and  young 
as  she  was,  she  had  no  respect  for  anything  like  deception 
or  trickery  This  her  father  knew,  and  his  bitterest  pang  of 
remorse  came  from  the  thought,  "  What  would  Mande  say 
if  she  knew  ?"  And  it  was  more  for  her  sake  he  was  sin- 
ning than  for  his  own  or  that  of  any  other.  She  was  so 
pretty,  or  would  be,  when  grown  to  young  ladyhood,  and 
the  adornments  which  money  could  bring  would  so  well 
become  her. 

"Maude,"  he  said  at  last,  "how  would  you  like  to 
change  places  with  Jerry  ?  That  is,  let  her  come  here  and 
live,  while  we  go  away  and  be  poor  ;  not  quite  as  she  is,  but 
like  many  people." 

"  And  not  wear  a  sash,  and  beads,  and  buttoned  boots 
every  day  ?"  Maude  interrupted  him  quickly.  "I  should 
not  like  it  at  all.  Why,  Jerry  dresses  herself,  and  wipes 
the  dishes,  and  wears  those  big  aprons  all  the  time.  No,  I 
don't  want  to  be  poor  ;"  and  as  if  something  in  her  father's 
mind  had  communicated  itself  to  her,  she  raised  her  head 
from  his  shoulder  and  looked  beseechingly  at  him. 

"  Nor  shall  you  be  poor  if  I  can  help  it,"  he  said ;  "but 
you  must  be  very  kind  to  Jerry,  and  never  let  her  feel  that 
you  are  richer  than  she.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  I  think  I  do,"  Maude  answered,  adding  as  she  kissed 
him  fondly  :  "And  now  I  s'pose  I  must  go,  for  there  is 
Hetty  come  for  me  ;  so,  good-night,  you  dearest,  best  papa 
in  the  world." 


148  ARTHUR    AND    JERRY. 

He  knew  she  bolicved  in  him  fully  ;  and  he  could  not 
undeceive  her.  He  would  bear  the  burden  he  said  to  him- 
self. There  should  be  no  more  repining  or  looking  bi.'ck. 
Maude  must  never  know  ;  and  so  Jerry's  chance  was  lost. 

The  next  morning  Arthur  awoke  with  a  racking  head- 
ache. He  was  accustomed  to  it,  it  is  true  ;  but  this  one 
was  particularly  severe. 

"  It's  the  cherries  ;  no  wonder  ;  a  quart  of  those  sour 
things  would  turn  upside  down  any  stomach,"  Charles  said, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  empty  tin  pail  which  was  adorn- 
ing an  inlaid  table,  and  then  suggested  a  dose  of  ipecac  as 
a  means  of  dislodging  the  offending  cherries. 

But  Arthur  declined  the  medicine.  His  stomach  was 
well  enough,  he  said.  It  was  his  head  which  ached,  and 
nothing  would  help  that  but  the  cool  little  hands  he  had 
held  in  his  the  previous  day.  Charles  must  go  for  Jerry, 
for  he  wanted  her,  and,  as  when  Arthur  wanted  a  thing  he 
wanted  it  immediately,  Charles  was  soon  on  his  way  to  the 
cottage  in  the  lane,  where  he  found  the  little  girl  under  a 
tall  lilac  bush,  busy  with  the  mud  pies  she  was  making, 
and  talking  to  herself,  partly  in  English  and  partly  in 
broken  German,  which  she  had  resumed  since  her  visit  to 
the  park. 

"Seemed  like  something  I  had  dreamed,  when  he 
talked  like  that,  and  I  could  almost  do  it  myself,"  she  said 
to  Harold  when  describing  the  particulars  of  her  interview 
with  Mr.  Tracy,  and  her  tongue  fell  naturally  into  the  lan- 
guage of  her  babyhood. 

On  hearing  Charles'  errand,  her  delight  was  unbounded. 

"  'Ess.  You'll  let  me  go,"  she  cried,  as  she  stood  before 
Mrs.  Crawford,  with  the  mud-spots  on  her  hands  and  face  ; 
' '  and  you'll  let  me  wear  my  best  gown  now,  and  my  white 
apron  with  the  shoulder-straps,  and  my  morocco  shoes, 
because  this  is  visiting." 

As  Mrs.  Crawford  could  see  no  objection  to  the  plan, 
Jerry  was  soon  dressed,  and  on  her  way  to  the  Park,  trip- 
ping along  airily,  with  an  air  of  dignity  and  importance 
very  amusing. 

Mrs.  Tracy,  who  seldom  troubled  herself  with  her 
brother-in-law's  affairs,  know  nothing  of  his  having  sent 
for  Jerry,  and  was  surprised  when  she  saw  her  coming  up 
the  walk  with  Charles,  whose  manner  indicated  that  he 


ABTI1UR    AND    JERRY.  149 

know  perfectly  what  he  was  about.  She  had  heard  of 
Jerry's  visit  on  the  previous  day,  and  had  wondered  what 
Arthur  could  find  in  that  child  to  interest  him,  when  he 
would  never  allow  Maude  in  his  room.  She  did  not  like 
Jerry,  because  of  the  three  dollars  a  week,  which  she  felt 
w;is  so  much  taken  from  herself,  and  why  they  should  be 
burdened  with  the  support  of  the  child,  just  because  her 
mother  happened  to  be  found  dead  upon  their  premises, 
she  could  not  understand.  Only  that  morning  she  had 
spoken  to  her  husband  on  the  subject,  and  asked  him  how 
long  he  proposed  to  support  her. 

"  Just  as  long  as  I  have  a  dollar  of  my  own,  and  she 
needs  it,"  was  his  reply,  as  he  left  the  room,  slamming  the 
door  behind  him,  and  leaving  her  to  think  him  almost  as 
crazy  as  his  brother. 

Thus  it  was  not  in  a  very  quiet  frame  of  mind  that  she 
went  out  upon  the  piazza,  and,  taking  one  of  the  largo  wil- 
low chairs  standing  there,  began  to  rock  back  and  forth 
and  wonder  what  had  so  changed  her  husband,  making  him 
silent  and  absent-minded,  and  even  irritable  at  times,  as  he 
had  been  that  morning.  Was  there  insanity  in  his  veins 
as  well  as  in  his  brother's,  and  would  her  children  inherit 
it — her  darling  Maude,  of  whom  she  was  so  proud,  and 
who,  she  hoped,  would  some  day  be  the  richest  heiress  in 
the  county  and  marry  Dick  St.  Claire,  if,  indeed,  she  did 
not  look  higher? 

It  was  at  this  point  in  her  soliloquy  that  she  saw  Jerry 
coming  up  the  walk,  her  face  glowing  with  excitement  and 
her  manner  one  of  freedom  and  assurance. 

Ascending  the  steps,  Jerry  nodded  and  smiled  at  the 
lady,  whose  expression  was  not  very  inviting,  and  who,  to 
the  child's  remark,  "I've  corned  again,"  answered,  icily  : 

"  I  see  you  have.    Seems  to  me  you  come  pretty  often." 

Turning  to  Charles,  Mrs.  Tracy  continued: 

"Why  is  she  here  again  so  soon?  What  docs  she 
want?" 

Quick  to  interpret  the  meaning  of  the  tones  of  a  voice, 
and  hearing  disapprobation  in  Mrs.  Tracy's,  Jerry's  face  was 
shadowed  at  once,  and  she  looked  up  entreatingly  at 
Charles,  who  said: 

"  Mr.  Tracy  sent  me  for  her.  She  was  with  him 
yesterday,  and  he  will  have  her  again  to-day." 


150  ARTHUR    AND    JERRY. 

"  Then  Jerry's  face  brightened,  and  she  chimed  in: 

"I'm  visiting.  I'm  invited,  and  Fm  going  to  stay  to 
eat." 

Mrs.  Tracy  dared  not  interfere  with  Arthur,  even  if  he 
took  Jerry  to  live  there  altogether,  and,  with  a  bend  of 
her  head,  she  signified  to  Charles  that  the  conference  was 
ended. 

"  Gome,  Jerry,"  Charles  said  ;  but  Jerry  held  back  a 
moment,  and  asked: 

"  Where's  Maude  ?" 

If  Mrs.  Tracy  heard,  she  did  not  reply,  and  Jerry  fol- 
lowed on  after  Charles  through  the  hall  and  up  the  broad 
staircase  to  the  darkened  room  where  Arthur  lay,  suffering 
intense  pain  in  his  head,  and  moaning  occasionally.  But 
he  heard  the  patter  of  the  little  feet,  for  he  was  listening 
for  it,  and  when  Jerry  entered  his  room  he  raised  himself 
upon  his  elbow,  and  reaching  the  other  hand  toward  her, 
said  : 

"  So  you  have  come  again,  little  Jerry  ;  or,  perhaps  I 
should  call  you  little  Cherry,  considering  how  you  first 
came  to  me.  Would  you  like  that  name  ?" 

"  'Ess/'  was  Jerry's  reply,  in  the  quick,  half-lisping  way 
which  made  the  monosyllable  so  attractive. 

"  Well,  then,  Cherry,"  Arthur  continued,  "  take  off 
that  bonnet,  and  open  the  blind  behind  me.  Then  bring 
that  stool  and  sit  where  I  can  look  at  you  while  you  rub 
my  head  with  your  hands.  It  aches  enough  to  split,  and  I 
believe  the  bumble-bees  are  swarming ;  but  they  can't  get 
out,  and  if  they  could,  they  are  the  white-faced  kind, 
which  never  sting." 

Jerry  knew  all  about  white-faced  bumble-bees,  for  Har- 
old had  caught  them  for  hc>r,  and  with  this  fear  removed, 
she  did  as  Arthur  bade  her,  and  was  soon  seated  at  his 
side,  rubbing  his  forehead,  where  the  blue  veins  were 
standing  out  full  and  round,  and  smoothing  his  hair 
caressingly  with  her  fingers,  which  seemed  to  have  in  them 
<i  healing  power,  for  the  pain  and  heat  grew  less  under 
their  touch,  and,  after  awhile,  Arthur  fell  into  a  quiet 
sleep. 

When  he  awoke,  after  half  an  hour  or  so,  it  was  with  a 
delicious  sense  of  rest  and  freedom  from  pain.  Jerry  had 
dropped  the  shades  to  shut  out  the  sunlight,  and  was 


ARTHUR    AND    JERRY.  151 

walking  on  tiptoe  round  the  room,  arranging  the  furni- 
ture and  talking  to  herself  in  whispers,  as  she  usually  did 
when  playing  alone. 

"  Jerry/'  Arthur  said  to  her,  and  she  was  at  his  side  in 
a  moment,  "you  are  an  enchantress.  The  ache  is  all  gone 
from  my  head,  charmed  away  by  your  hands.  Now, 
come  and  sit  by  me  again,  and  tell  me  all  you  know  of 
yourself  before  Harold  found  you.  Where  did  you  live  ? 
What  was  your  mother's  name  ?  Try  and  recall  all  you 
can." 

Jerry,  however,  could  tell  him  very  little  besides  the 
Tramp  House,  and  the  carpet-bag,  and  Harold  letting  her 
fall  in  the  snow.  Of  the  cold  and  the  suffering  she  could 
recall  nothing,  or  of  the  journey  from  New  York  in  the 
cars.  She  did  remember  something  about  the  ship,  and 
her  mother's  seasickness,  but  where  she  lived  before  she 
went  to  the  ship,  she  could  not  tell.  It  was  a  big  town,  she 
thought,  and  there  was  music  there,  and  a  garden,  and 
somebody  sick.  That  was  all.  Everything  else  was  gone 
entirely,  except  now  and  then  when  vague  glimpses  of 
something  in  the  past  bewildered  and  perplexed  her.  Her 
pantomime  of  the  dying  woman  and  the  child  had  not  been 
repeated  for  more  than  a  year,  for  now  her  acting  always 
took  the  form  of  the  tragedy  in  the  Tramp  House,  with 
herself  in  the  carpet-bag,  and  a  lay  figure  dead  beside  her. 
But  gradually,  as  Arthur  questioned  her,  the  old  memories 
began  to  come  back  and  shape  themselves  in  her  mind,  and 
she  said  at  last : 

"  It  was  like  this — play  you  was  a  sick  lady  and  I  was 
your  nurse.  I  can't  think  of  her  name.  I  guess  I'll  call 
her  Manny.  And  there  must  be  a  baby  ;  that's  me,  only  I 
can't  think  of  my  name." 

"  Call  it  Jerry,  then,"  Arthur  suggested,  both  inter- 
ested and  amused,  though  he  did  not  quite  understand 
what  she  meant. 

But  he  was  passive  in  her  hands,  and  submitted  to  have 
a  big  handkerchief  put  over  his  head  for  a  cap,  and  to  hold 
on  his  arm  the  baby  she  improvised  from  a  sofa-cushion  of 
costly  plush,  around  which  she  arranged  as  a  dress  an 
expensive  table-spread,  tied  with  the  rich  cord  and  tassel  of 
his  dressing-gown. 

"  You  must  cry  a  great  deal,"  she  said,  "  and  pray  a 


152  ARTHUR    AND    JERRY. 

great  deal,  and  kiss  the  baby  a  great  deal,  and  I  must  scold 
you  some  for  crying  so  much,  and  shake  the  baby  some  in 
the  kitchen  for  making  a  noise,  because,  you  know,  the 
baby  can  walk  and  talk,  and  is  me,  only  I  can't  be  both  at 
a  time." 

She  was  not  very  clear  in  her  explanations,  but  Arthur 
began  to  have  a  dim  perception  of  her  meaning,  and  did 
what  she  bade  him  do,  and  rather  enjoyed  having  his  face 
and  hands  washed  with  a  wet  rag,  and  his  hair  brushed  and 
furled,  as  she  called  it,  even  though  the  fingers  which  turled 
it  sometimes  made  suspicious  journeys  to  her  mouth.  He 
cried  when  she  told  him  to  cry ;  he  coughed  when  she  told 
him  to  cough  ;  he  kissed  the  baby  when  she  told  him  to 
kiss  it ;  he  took  medicine  from  the  tin  pail  in  the  form  of 
the  cherry  juice  left  there,  and  did  not  have  to  make 
believe  that  it  sickened  him,  as  she  said  he  must,  for  that 
was  a  reality.  But  when  she  told  him  he  must  die,  but 
pray  first,  he  demurred,  and  asked  what  he  should  say. 
Jerry  hesitated  a  little.  She  knew  that  her  prayers  were, 
"Our  Father,"  and  "  Now  I  lay  me,"  but  it  seemed  to  her 
that  a  person  dying  should  say  something  else,  and  at  lust 
she  replied : 

"  I  can't  think  what  she  did  say,  only  a  lot  about  Mm. 
There  was  a  Mm  somewhere,  and  I  guess  he  was  naughty, 
BO  pray  for  Mm,  and  the  baby — that's  me — and  tell  Manny 
she  must  take  me  to  Mecky." 

"To  whom  ?"  Arthur  asked,  and  she  replied  : 

"  To  Mecky,  where  he  was,  don't  you  know  ?" 

Arthur  did  not  know,  but  he  prayed  for  Mm,  saying 
what  she  bade  him  say — a  mixture  half  English,  half 
German. 

"  There,  now,  you  are  dead,"  she  said,  at  last,  as  she 
closed  his  eyes  and  folded  his  hands  upon  his  chest.  "  You 
are  dead,  and  musn't  stir  nor  breathe,  no  matter  how  awful 
we  cry,  Manny  and  I." 

Kneeling  down  beside  him,  she  began  a  cry  so  like  that 
of  two  persons  that  if  Arthur  had  not  known  to  the  con- 
trary, he  would  have  sworn  there  were  two  beside  him,  a 
woman  and  a  child,  the  voice  of  one  shrill,  and  clear,  and 
young,  and  frightened,  the  other  older,  and  harsher,  and 
stronger,  and  both  blending  together  in  a  most  astonishing 
manner. 


ARTHUR    AND    JERRY.  153 

""With  a  little  practice  she  would  make  a  wonderful 
ventriloquist,"  Arthur  thought,  as  he  watched  her  flitting 
about  the  room,  talking  to  unseen  people  and  giving  orders 
with  regard  to  himself. 

Once  Frank  had  witnessed  a  pantomine  very  similar  to 
this,  only  then  the  play  had  ended  with  the  death,  while 
now  there  was  the  burial,  and  when  Arthur  moved  a  little 
and  asked  if  he  might  get  up,  she  laid  her  hand  quickly  on 
his  mouth,  with  a  peremptory,  "Hush  !  you  are  dead,  and 
we  must  bury  you/' 

But  here  Jerry's  memory  failed  her,  and  the  funeral 
which  followed  was  an  imitation  of  the  one  which  had  left 
the  Park  House  three  years  before,  and  which  Arthur  had 
watched  from  his  window.  Frank  was  there,  and  his  wife, 
and  Peterkin,  and  Jerry  imitated  the  voices  of  them  all, 
and  when  some  one  bade  her  kiss  her  mother  she  stooped 
and  kissed  Arthur's  forehead,  and  said  : 

"  Good-by,  mamma  ;"  then,  throwing  a  thin  tidy  over 
his  face,  she  continued,  "Now  I  am  going  to  shut  the 
coffin  ;"  and  as  she  worked  at  the  corners,  as  if  driving 
down  the  screw?,  Arthur  felt  as  if  he  were  actually  being 
shut  out  from  life,  and  light,  and  the  world. 

To  one  of  his  superstitious  tendencies  the  whole  was 
terribly  real,  and  when  at  last  she  told  him  he  was  buried, 
and  the  folks  hnd  come  back,  and  he  could  get  up,  the 
sweat  was  standing  upon  his  face  and  hands  in  great  drops, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  in  very  truth  been  present  at  the 
obsequies  of  some  one  whose  death  had  made  an  impression 
so  strong  upon  Jerry's  mind  that  time  had  not  erased  it. 
There  was  in  his  heart  no  thought  of  G-retohen,  as  there 
had  been  in  Frank's  when  he  was  a  spectator  at  the  play. 
He  had  no  cause  for  suspicion,  and  thought  only  of  the 
child  whose  restlessness  and  activity  were  something  appal- 
ling to  him. 

"  Now,  what  shall  we  play  next  ?'  she  asked,  as  he  sat 
white  and  trembling  in  his  chair. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  he  groaned.  "  I  cannot 
stand  any  more  now." 

"  Well,  then,  you  sit  still  and  I'll  clean  house  ;  it  needs 

it  badly.     Such  mud  as  that  boy  brings  in  1  never  see,  and 

I'm   so   lame,   too !"    Jerry   responded,    and  Arthur   now 

recognized  Mrs.   Crawford,  whose  tidiness  and  cleanliness 

7* 


154  ARTHUR    AND    JERRY. 

were  proverbial,  and  for  the  next  half-hour  he  watched 
the  little  actress  as  she  limped  around  the  room  exactly  as 
Mrs.  Crawford  limped  with  her  rheumatism,  sweeping, 
dusting,  and  scolding,  both  to  Harold  and  Jerry,  the  lat- 
ter of  whom  once  retorted  : 

"I  wouldn't  be  so  cross  as  that  if  I  had  forty  rheuma- 
tisses  in  my  laigs,  would  you,  Harold?" 

But  Harold  only  answered,  softly: 

"  Hush,  Jerry !  You  should  not  speak  so  to  grandma, 
and  she  so  good  to  us  both,  when  we  haven't  any  mother." 

Arthur  would  have  laughed,  so  perfect  was  the  imita- 
tion of  voice  add  gesture,  but  at  the  mention  of  Harold's 
mother  there  came  into  his  mind  a  vision  of  sweet  Amy 
Crawford,  who  had  been  his  first  love,  and  for  whose  son 
he  had  really  done  so  little. 

"Jerry,"  he  said,  "I  guess  you  have  cleaned  house 
long  enough.  Wash  your  hands  and  come  to  me." 

She  obeyed  him,  and,  looking  into  his    face,  said: 

"  Now,  what  ?    Can  you  play  cat's  cradle,  or  casiuo  ?" 

"  No;  I  want  to  talk  to  you  of  Harold.  You  love  him 
very  much?" 

"  Oh,  a  hundred  bushels — him  and  grandma,  too." 

"And  he  is  very  kind  to  you?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  he  is.  He  never  talks  back,  and  I  am 
awful  sometimes,  and  once  I  spit  at  him,  and  struck  him  ; 
but  I  was  so  sorry,  and  cried  all  night,  and  offered  to  give 
him  my  best  doll  'cause  it  was  the  plaything  I  loved  most, 
and  I  went  without  my  piece  of  pie  so  he  could  have  two 
pieces  if  he  wanted,"  Jerry  said,  her  voice  trembling  as 
she  made  this  confession,  which  gave  Arthur  a  better 
insight  into  hor  real  character  than  he  had  had  before. 

Hasty,  impulsive,  repentant,  generous,  and  very  affec- 
tionate, he  felt  sure  she  was,  and  he  continued: 

' '  Does  Harold  go  to  school  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I,  too — to  the  district ;  but  I  hate  it !"  Jerry 
replied. 

"  Why  hate  it  ?"  Arthur  asked.  "  What  is  the  matter 
with  the  district  school  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  smells  awful  there  sometimes  when  it  is  hot," 
Jerry  replied,  with  an  upward  turn  to  her  nose.  "And 
the  boys  are  so  mean,  some  of  them.  Bill  Peterkin  goes 
there,  and  I  can't  bear  him,  he  plagues  me  so.  Wants  to 


ARTHUR    ASD    JERRY.  155 

kiss  me.  A-a-h,  and  says  I  am  to  be  his  wife,  and  he's  got 
warts  on  his  thumb  I" 

"  Jerry's  face  was  sufficiently  indicative  of  the  disgust 
she  felt  for  Bill  Peterkin  with  his  w,irts,  and,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair,  Arthur  laughed  heartily,  as  he  said: 

"And  so  you  don't  like  Bill  Peterkin?  Well,  what 
boy's  do  you  like  ?" 

"  Harold  and  Dick  St.  Claire,"  was  the  prompt  response, 
and  Arthur  continued  : 

"  What  would  you  have  in  place  of  the  district  school  ?" 

"A  governess,"  was  Jerry's  answer.  "Nina  St.  Claire 
has  one,  and  Ann  Eliza  Peterkiu  has  one,  and  Maude  Tracy 
has  one." 

Here  Jerry  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  struck  with  a  new 
idea. 

"  Why  Maude  is  your  little  girl  isn't  she  ?  You  are  her 
rich  uncle,  and  she  is  to  have  all  your  money  when  you  die. 
I  wish  I  was  your  little  girl." 

She  spoke  the  last  very  sadly,  and  something  in  the 
expression  of  her  face  brought  Gretchen  to  Arthur's  mind, 
and  his  voice  was  choked  as  he  said  to  her  : 

"  I'd  give  half  my  fortune  if  you  were  my  little  girl." 

Then,  laying  his  hand  on  her  bright  hair,  he  ques- 
tioned her  adriotly  of  her  life  at  the  cottage,  finding  that 
it  w;is  a  very  happy  one,  and  that  she  had  never  known 
want,  although  Mrs.  Crawford  was  unable  to  work  as  she 
once  had  done,  and  was  largely  dependent  upon  the  price 
for  Jerry's  board,  which  Frank  paid  regularly.  Of  this, 
however,  Jerry  did  not  speak.  She  only  said  : 

"  Harold  works  in  the  furnace,  and  in  folks' gardens,  and 
does  lot.s  ,of  things  for  everybody,  and  once  Bill  Peterkin 
twitted  him  because  he  goes  to  Mrs.  Baker's  sometimes 
after  stuff  for  the  pig,  and  Harold  cried,  and  I  got  up  early 
the  next  morn  ing  and  went  after  it  myself,  and  drew  the  cart 
home.  After  that  grandma  wouldn't  let  Harold  go  for  any 
more,  and  so  I  s'pose  the  pig  will  not  weigh  as  much.  I'm 
sorry,  for  I  like  sausage,  don't  you  ?" 

Arthur  hated  it,  but  he  did  not  tell  her  so,  and  she  went 
on  : 

"  Harold  studies  awful  hard,  and  wants  to  go  to  col- 
lege. He  is  trying  to  learn  latin,  and  recites  to  Dick  St. 
Claire ;  but  grandma  says  its  up-hill  business.  Oh,  if  Fa 


150  ARTHUR    AND    JERRY. 

only  rich.  I'd  give  it  all  to  Harold,  and  he  should  get  learn- 
ing like  Dick.  Maybe  I  can  work  some  time  and  earn 
some  money.  I  wish  I  could." 

Arthur  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time,  but  sat  looking 
at  the  child  whose  face  no\v  wore  an  old  and  troubled  look. 
In  his  mind  he  was  revolving  a  plan  which,  with  his  usual 
precipitancy,  he  resolved  to  carry  into  effect  at  once.  But 
he  said  nothing  of  it  to  Jerry,  whose  attention  was  diverted 
by  the  entrance  of  Charles  and  the  preparations  for 
luncheon,  which,  on  the  little  girl's  account,  was  served 
with  more  care  than  usual. 

Jerry  who  had  a  great  liking  for  everything  luxurious, 
had  taken  tea  once  or  twice  at  Grassy  Spring  with  Kina  St. 
Claire,  and  had  been  greatly  impressed  with  the  appoint- 
ments of  the  table,  prizing  them  more  even  than  the 
dainties  for  her  to  eat.  But  what  she  had  seen  there 
seemed  as  nothing  compared  to  this  round  Swiss  table, 
with  its  colored  glass  and  rare  china,  no  two  pieces  of 
which  were  alike. 

"Oh,  it  is  just  like  a  dream  !"  she  cried,  as  she  watched 
Charles'  movement  and  saw  that  there  were  two  places 
laid.  "  Am  I  to  sit  down  with  you  ?"  she  said,  in  an  awe- 
struck voice,  "and  in  that  lovely  chair?  I  am  glad  I 
wore  my  best  gown.  It  won't  dirty  the  chair  a  bit." 

But  she  took  her  pocket-handkerchief  and  covered  it 
over  the  satin  cushion  before  she  dared  seat  herself  in  the 
chair,  which  had  once  been  brought  out  for  Gretchen,  and 
in  which  she  now  sat  down,  dropping  her  head  and  shut- 
ting her  eyes  a  moment.  Then,  as  she  heard  no  sound, 
she  looked  u  p  wonderingly,  and  asked  : 

"  Ain't  you  going  to  say  '  for  Christ's  sake/  grandma 
does  ?" 

Arthur's  face  was  a  study  with  its  mixed  expression  of 
surprise,  amusement  and  self-reproach.  He  never  prayed, 
except  it  were  in  some  ejaculatory  sentences  wrung  from 
him  in  his  sore  need,  and  the  thought  of  asking  a  blessing 
on  his  food  had  never  occurred  to  him.  But  Jerry  was 
persistent. 

"  You  must  say  'for  Christ's  sake,'  "•  she  continued,  and 
with  his  weak  brain  all  in  a  muddle.  Arthur  began  what 
he  meant  to  be  a  brief  thanksgiving,  but  which  stretched 
itself  into  a  lengthy  prayer,  full  of  the  past  and  of 


ARTUUR    AND    JERRY.  157 

Gretchen,  whom  he  seemed  to  be  addressing  rather  than 
his  Maker. 

For  a  while  Jerry  listened  reverently  ;  then  she  looked 
up  and  moved  uneasily  in  the  chair,  and  at  last  when  the 
prayer  had  continued  for  at  least  five  minutes  she  burst 
out  impulsively  : 

"Oh,  dear,  do  say  '  amen.'     I  am  so  hungry  I" 

That  broke  the  spell,  and  with  a  start  Arthur  came  to 
himself,  and  said  : 

"  Thank  you,  Jerry.  Praying  is  a  new  business  for 
me,  and  I  do  believe  I  should  have  gone  on  forever  if  you 
had  not  stopped  me.  Now  what  will  you  have  ?" 

He  helped  her  to  whatever  she  liked  best,  but  could 
eat  scarcely  anything  himself.  It  was  sufficient  for  him 
to  watch  Jerry  sitting  there  in  Gretchen's  chair  and  using 
Gretchen's  plate  which  every  day  for  so  many  years  had 
been  laid  for  her.  Gretchen  had  not  come.  She  would 
never  come,  he  feared,  but  with  Jerry  he  did  not  feel  half 
as  desolate  as  when  alone,  with  only  his  morbid  fancies  for 
company.  And  he  must  have  her  there,  at  least  a  portion 
of  the  time.  His  mind  was  made  up  on  that  point,  and 
when  about  four  o'clock,  Jerry  said  to  him  : 

"  I  want  to  go  now.  Grandma  said  I  was  to  be  home 
by  five,"  he  replied  : 

"Yes,  I  am  going  with  you.  I  wish  to  see  your 
grandmother.  I  am  going  to  drive  you  in  the  phaeton. 
How  would  you  like  that  ?" 

Her  dancing  eyes  told  him  how  she  would  like  it,  and 
Charles  was  sent  to  the  stable  with  an  order  to  have  the 
little  pony  phaeton  brought  round  as  soon  as  possible  as  he 
was  going  for  a  drive. 


158  ARTHUR'S    PLAN. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
AETHUR'S  PLAN. 

"  Y\7"HY,  the  madam  is  going  to  drive,  too,  and  Fve 

»  *  come  to  harness;  there'll  be  a  row  somewhere," 
John  said. 

"Can't  help  it,"  Charles  replied.  "Mr.  Arthur  wants 
the  phaeton,  and  will  have  it  for  all  of  madam." 

"Yes,  I  s'pV  so.  Wall,  I'll  go  and  tell  her,"  was 
John's  rejoinder,  as  he  started  for  the  house,  where  Mrs. 
Tracy  was  just  drawing  on  her  long  driving  gloves  and 
admiring  her  new  hat  and  feather  before  the  glass. 

Dolly  looked  almost  as  young,  and  far  prettier,  than 
when  she  came  to  the  park,  years  before.  A  life  of  luxury 
suited  her.  She  had  learned  to  take  things  easily,  and  the 
old  woman  with  the  basket  might  now  come  every  day  to 
her  kitchen  door  without  her  knowing  it.  She  aped  Mrs. 
Atherton,  of  Brier  Hill,  in  everything,  and  had  the  satis- 
faction of  knowing  that  she  was  on  all  occasions  quite  as 
stylish-looking  and  well-dressed  as  that  aristocratic  lady 
whom  she  called  her  intimate  friend.  She  had  also  grown 
very  proud  and  very  exclusive  in  her  ideas,  and  when  poor 
Mrs.  Peterkin,  who  was  growing,  too,  with  her  million, 
ventured  to  call  at  the  park,  the  call  was  returned  with  a 
card  which  Dolly's  coachman  left  at  the  door.  Since  the 
night  of  her  party,  and  the  election  which  followed,  when 
Frank  was  defeated,  she  had  ignored  the  Peterkins,  and 
laughed  at  what  she  called  their  vulgar  imitation  of  people 
above  them,  and  when  she  heard  that  Mary  June  had  hired 
a  governess  for  her  two  children,  Bill  and  Ann  Eliza,  she 
scoffed  at  the  airs  assumed  by  come-up  people,  and  won- 
dered if  Mrs.  Peterkin  had  forgotten  that  she  was  one  of 
Grace  Atherton's  hired  girls.  '  Dolly  had  certainly  forgot- 
ten the  Laugley  life,  and  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
the  great  lady  of  the  park,  who  held  herself  aloof  from  the 
common  herd,  and  taught  her  children  to  do  the  same. 

She  had  seen  Jerry  enter  the  house  that  morning  with 
a  feeling  of  disapprobation,  which  had  not  diminished  as 


ARTHURS    PLAN.  159 

the  day  wore  on  and  still  the  child  staid,  and  what  was 
worse,  Maude  was  not  sent  for  to  join  her. 

"  Not  that  I  would  have  allowed  it,  if  she  had  been," 
she  said  to  herself,  for  she  did  not  wish  her  daughter  inti- 
mate with  one  of  whose  antecedents  nothing  was  known, 
but  Arthur  might  at  least  have  invited  her.  He  had  never 
noticed  her  children  much,  and  this  she  deeply  resented. 
Maude,  who  knew  of  Jerry's  presence  in  the  house,  had 
cried  to  go  and  play  with  her,  but  Mrs.  Tracy  had  refused, 
and  promised  as  an  equivalent  a  drive  in  the  phaeton 
around  the  town.  And  it  was  for  this  drive  Dolly  was  pre- 
paring herself,  when  John  came  with  the  message  that  she 
could  not  have  the  phaeton,  as  Mr.  Arthur  was  going  to 
take  Jerry  home  in  it. 

Usually  Arthur's  slightest  wish  was  a  law  in  the  house- 
hold, for  that  was  Frank's  order ;  but  on  this  occasion 
Dolly  felt  herself  justified  in  rebelling. 

"  Not  have  the  phaeton  !  That's  smart  I  must  say," 
she  exclaimed.  "  Can't  that  child  walk  home,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  Tell  Mr.  Tracy  Maude  has  had  the  promise  of  a 
drive  all  day,  and  I  am  ready,  with  my  things  on.  Ask 
him  to  take  the  Victoria  ;  he  never  drives." 

All  this  in  substance  was  repeated  to  Arthur,  who 
answered,  quietly  : 

"  Let  Mrs.  Tracy  take  the  Victoria.  I  prefer  the  phae- 
ton myself." 

That  settled  it,  and  in  a  few  moments  Jerry  was 
seated  at  Arthur's  side,  and  skimming  along  through  the 
park,  and  out  upon  the  high  way  which  skirted  the  river  for 
miles. 

"  This  is  not  going  home,  and  grandma  will  scold," 
Jerry  said. 

"Never  mind  grandma — I  will  make  it  right  with  her. 
I  am  going  to  show  you  the  country,"  Arthur  replied,  as 
he  chirruped  to  the  fleet  pony  who  seemed  to  fly  along  the 
smooth  road. 

No  one  who  saw  the  tall,  elegant-looking  man,  who  sat 
so  erect,  and  handled  the  reins  so  skillfully,  would  have 
suspected  him  of  insanity,  and  more  than  one  stopped  to 
look  after  him  and  the  little  girl  whose  face  looked  out 
from  the  white  sun  bonnet  with  so  joyous  an  expression. 


160  ARTHUR'S    PLAN. 

On  the  homeward  route  they  met  the  Victoria,  with  John 
upon  the  box,  and  Mrs.  Tracy  and  Maude  inside. 

"There's  Maude  !  Hallo,  Maude  —  see  me  !  Fm  rid- 
ing !"  Jerry  called  out,  cheerily,  while^Maude  answered 
back  : 

"  Hallo,  Jerry  !" 

Bnt  Mrs.  Tracy  gave  no  sign  of  recognition,  and  only 
rebuked  her  daughter  for  her  vulgarity  in  saying  "  Hallo/3 
which  was  second  class  and  low. 

"  Then  Xina  St.  Claire  is  second  class  and  low,  for  she 
says  '  Hallo,'"  was  Maude's  reply,  to  which  her  mother  had 
no  answer. 

Meanwhile  the  phaeton  was  going  swiftly  on  toward  the 
cottage,  which  it  reached  a  few  minutes  after  the  furnace 
whistle  blew  for  six,  and  Harold,  who  had  been  working 
there,  came  up  the  lane.  There  were  soiled  spots  on  his 
hands,  and  on  his  face,  and  his  clothes  showed  marks  of 
toil,  all  of  which  Arthur  noticed,  while  he  was  explaining 
to  Mrs.  Crawford  that  he  had  taken  Jerry  for  a  drive,  and 
kept  her  be}7ond  the  prescribed  hour.  Then,  turning  to 
Harold,  he  said  : 

"  And  so  you  work  in  the  furnace  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  during  vacation,  when  I  can  get  a  job  there," 
Harold  answered,  and  Mr.  Tracy  continued  : 

"  How  much  do  you  get  a  day  ?" 

"  Fifty  cents  in  dull  times,"  was  the  reply,  and  Arthur 
went  on : 

"Fifty  cents  from  seven  in  the  morning  to  six  at  night, 
and  board  yourself.  A  magnificent  sum,  truly.  Pray, 
how  do  you  manage  to  spend  so  much  ?  You  must  be  get- 
ting rich." 

The  words  were  sarcastic,  but  the  tone  belied  the  words, 
and  Harold  was  about  to  speak,  when  his  grandmother 
interrupted  him,  and  said  : 

"  What  he  does  not  spend  for  us  he  puts  aside.  He  is 
trying  to  save  enough  to  go  to  the  High  School,  but  it's 
slow  work.  I  can  do  but  little  myself,  and  it  all  falls  upon 
Harold." 

"But  I  like  it,  grandma.  I  like  to  work  for  you  and 
Jerry,  and  I  have  almost  twenty  dollars  saved,"  Harold 
said,  "and  in  a  year  or  two  I  can  go  away  to  school,  and 
work  somewhere  for  my  board.  Lots  of  boys  do  that." 


ARTHURS    PLAN.  161 

Arthur  was  hitching  his  pony  to  the  fence,  while  a  new 
idea  was  dawning  in  his  mind. 

"Fifty  cents  a  day,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  he  has 
twenty  dollars  saved,  and  thinks  himself  rich.  Why,  I've 
spent  more  than  that  on  one  bottle  of  wine,  and  here  is  this 
boy,  Amy's  son,  wanting  on  education,  and  working  to  sup- 
port his  grandmother  like  a  common  laborer.  I  believe  I 
am  crazy." 

He  was  in  the  cottage  by  this  time — in  the  clean,  cool 
kitchen  where  the  supper  table  was  laid  with  its  plain  fare, 
wholly  unlike  the  costly  viands  which  daily  loaded  his 
board. 

"Don't  wait  for  me,  Harold  must  be  hungry,"  he  said, 
adding  quickly  :  "  Or  stay  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will 
take  a  cup  of  tea  with  you.  The  drive  has  given  me  an 
appetite,  and  your  tea  smells  very  inviting." 

It  was  a  great  honor  to  have  Arthur  Tracy  at  her  table, 
and  Mrs.  Crawford  felt  it  as  such,  and  was  very  sorry,  too, 
that  she  had  nothing  better  to  offer  him  than  breud  and 
butter  and  radishes,  with  milk,  and  a  dish  of  cold  beans, 
and  chopped  beets,  and  a  piece  of  apple  pie  saved  for  Har- 
old from  dinner.  But  she  made  him  welcome,  and  Jerry, 
delighted  to  return  the  hospitality  she  had  received,  brought 
him  a  clean  plate  and  cup  and  saucer,  and  asked  if  she 
might  get  the  best  sugar-bowl  and  the  white  sugar.  Then, 
remembering  the  beautiful  flowers  which  had  adorned  the 
table  at  Tracy  Park,  she  ran  out,  and  gathering  a  bunch 
of  June  pinks,  put  them  in  a  little  glass  by  his  plate. 

When  all  was  ready  and  they  had  taken  their  seats  at 
the  table,  Mrs.  Crawford  closed  her  eyes  reverently  and 
asked  the  accustomed  blessing  which  in  that  house  preceded 
every  meal.  Jerry's  amen  was  a  good  deal  louder  and  more 
emphatic  than  usual,  while  she  nodded  her  head  to  Arthur, 
with  an  expression  which  he  understood  to  mean,  "You 
know  now  what  you  ought  to  say,  instead  of  that  long 
prayer,"  and  he  nodded  back  that  he  did  so  understand  it. 

Arthur  enjoyed  the  supper  immensely,  or  pretended 
that  he  did.  He  ate  three  slices  of  bread  and  butter  ;  he 
drank  three  cups  of  tea  ;  he  even  tried  the  beans  and  the 
beets,  but  declined  the  radishes,  which,  he  said,  would 
give  him  nightmare. 

When  supper  was  over  and  the  table  cleared  away,  lie 


162  ARTHURS    PLAN. 

still  showed  no  signs  of  going,  but  asking  Mrs.  Crawford 
to  take  a  seat  near  him,  he  plunged  at  once  into  the  busi- 
ness which  had  brought  him  there,  and  which,  since  he 
had  seen  Harold  in  his  working-dress  and  heard  what  he 
was  trying  to  do,  had  grown  to  be  of  a  two-fold  nature. 
He  was  very  lonely,  he  said,  and  the  little  taste  he  had 
had  of  Jerry's  society  had  made  him  wish  for  more,  and  he 
must  have  her  with  him  a  part  at  least  of  every  day. 

"  In  short,"  he  said,  "I  should  like  to  undertake  her 
education  myself  until  she  is  older,  when  I  will  see  that  she 
Las  the  proper  finishing.  She  tells  me  she  hates  the  dis- 
trict school,  with  Bill  Peterkin  and  his  warts — " 

"  Trying  to  kiss  me,"  Jerry  interrupted,  as,  open-eyed 
and  open-mouthed,  she  stood,  with  her  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der, listening  to  him. 

"  Yes,  trying  to  kiss  you,  though  I  do  not  blame  him 
much  for  that/'  Arthur  said,  with  a  smile,  and  then  con- 
tinued :  "  She  is  ambitious  enough  to  want  a  governess  like 
Ann  Eliza  Peterkin  and  my  brother's  daughter,  but  I  am 
better  than  a  dozen  governesses.  I  can  teach  her  all  the 
rudiments  of  an  English  education,  with  French  and  Ger- 
man, and  Latin,  too,  if  she  likes  ;  and  my  plan  is,  that  she 
shall  come  to  me  every  day,  except  Saturdays  and  Sundays, 
at  ten  in  the  morning,  get  her  lessons  and  her  lunch  with 
me,  and  return  home  at  four  in  the  afternoon.  Would  you 
like  it,  Cherry  ?" 

' '  Oh-h-oh  !"  was  all  the  answer  Jerry  could  make  for  a 
moment,  but  her  cheeks  were  scarlet,  and  tears  of  joy 
stood  in  her  eyes,  until  she  glanced  at  Harold  ;  then  all  the 
brightness  faded  from  her  face,  for  how  could  she  accept 
this  great  good  and  leave  him  to  drudge  and  toil  alone  ? 

"  What  is  it,  Cherry  ?"  Mr.  Tracy  asked  ;  and,  with  a 
half  sob,  she  replied  : 

"  I  can't  go  without  Harold.  If  I  get  learning,  he  must 
get  learning,  too,"  and  leaving  Arthur,  she  crossed  over 
to  the  boy,  and  putting  her  arm  around  him,  looked  up  at 
him  with  a  look  which  in  after  years  he  would  have  given 
half  his  life  to  win. 

"  I  shall  not  forget  Harold/'  Arthur  hastened  to  say, 
"  and  I  have  something  better  in  store  for  him  than  recit- 
ing his  lessons  to  me.  When  the  High  School  opens  in 
September,  he  is  going  there,  and  if  he  does  well  he  shall 


ARTHUR'S    PLAX.  163 

go  to  Andover  in  time,  and  perhaps  to  Harvard.  It  will  all 
depend  upon  himself,  and  how  he  improves  his  opportuni- 
ties. What !  crying  ?  Don't  you  like  it  ?"  Arthur  asked, 
as  he  saw  the  tears  gathering  in  Harold's  eyes  and  rolling 
down  his  cheeks. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes;  but  it  don't  seem  real,  and — and — I 
guess  it  makes  me  kind  of  sick,"  Harold  gasped,  as,  freeing 
himself  from  Jerry's  encircling  arm,  he  hurried  from  the 
room,  to  think  over  this  great  and  unexpected  joy  which 
had  come  so  suddenly  to  him. 

With  his  naturally  retmed  tastes  and  instincts  the  dirty 
furnace  work  was  not  pleasant  to  him,  neither  were  the 
many  menial  duties  he  was  obliged  to  perform  for  the  sake 
of  those  he  loved.  How  ta  get  an  education  was  the  prob- 
lem he  was  earnestly  trying  to  solve,  and  lo  !  it  was  solved 
for  him.  For  a  moment  the  suddenness  of  the  thing  over- 
came him,  and  he  sat  down  upon  a  block  of  wood  in  the 
yard,  faint  and  bewildered,  while  Arthur  made  his  plan 
clear  to  Mrs.  Crawford,  saying  that  what  he  meant  to  do 
was  partly  for  Jerry's  sake  and  partly  for  the  sake  of  the 
young  girl  who  had  been  his  early  love. 

"  I  always  intended  to  take  care  of  you,"  he  said;  "but 
things  go  from  my  mind,  and  I  forget  the  past  as  com- 
pletely as  if  it  had  never  been.  But  this  will  stay  by  me, 
for  I  shall  have  Cherry  as  a  reminder,  and  if  I  am  in  dan- 
ger of  forgetting  she  will  jog  my  memory." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Crawford  could  not  speak,  so  great 
was  her  surprise  and  joy  that  the  good  she  had  thought 
unattainable  was  to  be  Harold's  at  last.  And  yet  some- 
thing in  her  proud,  sensitive  nature  rebelled  against  receiv- 
ing so  much  from  a  stranger,  even  if  that  stranger  were 
Arthur  Tracy.  It  seemed  like  charity,  she  said.  But 
Arthur  overruled  her  with  that  persuasive  way  he  had  of 
converting  people  to  his  views ;  and  when  at  last  he  left  the 
cottage  it  was  with  the  understanding  that  Jerry  should 
commence  her  lessons  with  him  the  first  week  in  Septem- 
ber, and  that  Harold  should  enter  the  High  School  in 
Shannondale  when  it  opened  in  the  autumn. 


164  THE    WORKING    OF 

CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  WORKING  OF  ARTHUR'S  PLAN. 

AS  Arthur  was  wholly  uncommunicative  with  regard  to 
bis  affairs,  and  as  Mrs.  Crawford  kept  her  own  coun- 
sel, and  bade  Harold  and  Jerry  do  the  same,  the  Tracy's 
knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  plan  until  the  September 
morning  when  Jerry  presented  herself  at  the  park  house, 
and  was  met  in  the  door-way  by  Mrs.  Frank,  who  was  just 
going  out.  Very  few  could  have  resisted  the  bright  little 
face,  so  full  of  childish  happiness,  or  the  clear,  assured 
voice,  which  said  so  cheerily: 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Tracy.     I'm  come  to  school." 

But,  prejudiced  as  she  was  against  the  girl,  Mrs. 
Tracy  could  resist  any  thing,  and  she  answered,  haughtily  : 

"  Come  to  school !  What  do  you  mean  !  This  is  not 
a  school-house,  and  if  you  have  any  errand  here,  go  round 
to  the  other  door.  Only  company  come  in  here." 

"  But  I'm  company.  I'm  going  to  get  learning;  he 
told  me  to  come,"  Jerry  answered,  flushed  and  eager,  and 
altogether  sure  of  her  right  to  be  there. 

Before  Mrs.  Frank  could  reply,  a  voice,  distinct  and 
authoritative,  and  to  which  she  always  yielded,  called  from 
the  top  of  the  stairway  inside: 

"  Mrs.  Tracy,  if  that  is  Jerry  to  whom  you  are  talking, 
send  her  up  at  once.  I  am  waiting  for  her." 

Jerry  did  not  mean  the  nod  she  gave  the  lady  as  she 
passed  hef  to  be  disrespectful,  but  Mrs.  Frank  felt  it  as 
such,  and  went  to  her  own  room  in  a  most  perturbed  state 
of  mind,  for  which  she  could  find  no  vent  until  her  hus- 
band came  in,  when  she  stated  the  case  to  him,  and  asked 
if  he  knew  what  it  meant. 

But  Frank  was  as  ignorant  as  herself,  and  could  not 
enlighten  her  until  that  night,  after  he  had  seen  his 
brother,  and  heard  from  him  what  he  was  intending  to  do. 

"  God  bless  you,  Arthur.  You  don't  know  how  happy 
you  have  made  me,"  Frank  said,  feeling  on  the  instant 
that  a  great  burden  was  lifted  from  his  mind. 


ARTHUR'S    PLAN.  165 

Jerry  was  to  be  educated  and  cared  for,  and  would  prob- 
ably receive  all  that  the  world  would  naturally  concede 
to  her  if  the  truth  were  known.  He  believed,  or  thought 
he  did,  that  Gretchen  had  never  been  his  brother's  wife, 
though  to  believe  so  seemed  an  insult  to  the  original  of  the 
sweet  face  which  looked  at  him  from  the  window  every 
time  he  entered  his  brother's  room.  Jerry  was  a  great 
trouble  to  him,  and  he  would  not  have  liked  to  confess  to 
any  one  how  constantly  she  was  in  his  mind,  or  how  many 
plans  he  had  devised  in  order  to  atone  for  the  wrong  he 
knew  he  was  doing  her.  And  now  his  brother  had  taken 
her  off  his  hands,  and  she  was  to  be  cared  for  and  receive 
the  education  which  would  fit  her  to  earn  her  own  livelihood, 
and  make  her  future  life  respectable.  No  particular  harm 
was  done  her  after  all,  and  he  might  now  enjoy  himself, 
and  cast  his  morbid  fancies  to  the  winds,  he  reflected,  as  he 
went  whistling  to  his  wife's  apartment,  and  told  her  what  he 
heard. 

For  a  moment  Dolly  was  speechless  with  astonishment, 
and  when  at  last  she  opened  her  lips,  her  husband  silenced 
her  with  that  voice  and  manner  of  which  she  was  beginning 
to  be  afraid. 

It  was  none  of  their  business,  he  said,  what  Arthur  did 
in  his  own  house,  provided,  they  were  not  molested,  and  if 
be  chose  to  turn  schoolmaster,  he  had  a  right  to  do  so. 
For  his  part,  he  was  glad  of  it,  as  it  saved  him  the  expense 
of  Jerry's  education,  for  if  Arthur  had  not  taken  it  in  hand, 
he  should,  and  Dolly  was  to  keep  quiet  and  let  the  child 
come  and  go  in  peace. 

After  delivering  himself  of  these  sentiments,  Frank 
went  away,  leaving  his  wife  to  wonder,  as  she  had  done 
more  than  once,  if  he,  too,  were  not  a  little  crazy,  like  his 
brother.  But  she  said  no  more  about  Jerry's  coining  there, 
except  to  suggest  that  she  might  at  least  come  in  at  the 
side  door  instead  of  the  front,  especially  on  muddy  days 
when  she  was  liable  to  soil  the  costly  carpets.  And  Jerry, 
who  cared  but  little  how  she  entered  the  house,  if  she  only 
got  in,  came  through  the  kitchen  after  the  second  day,  and 
wiped  her  feet  upon  the  mat ;  and  once,  when  her  shoos 
were  worse  than  usual,  took  them  off,  lest  they  should  leave 
a  track. 

It  is  not  our   intention  to  linger  over  the  first   few 


Ififl  Tttti    WOft&ffQ    OF 

months  of  Jerry's  school  days  at  Tracy  Park,  but  rather  to 
hasten  on  to  the  summer  four  years  after  her  introduction 
to  Tracy  Park  as  Arthur's  pupil.  During  all  that  time  he 
had  never  once  seemed  to  be  weary  of  the  task  he  had 
imposed  upon  himself,  but,  on  the  contrary,  his  interest 
had  deepened  in  the  child  who  developed  so  rapidly  under 
his  training  that  he  sometimes  looked  at  her  in  astonish- 
ment, marveling  more  and  more  who  she  was,  and  from 
whom  she  had  inherited  her  wonderful  memory  and  power 
to  grasp  points  Avhich  are  usually  far  beyond  the  compre- 
hension of  a  child  of  ten,  or  even  twelve,  and  which  Maude 
Tracy  could  no  more  have  mastered  than  her  brother,  the 
stupid  Jack,  whose  intellect  had  not  grown  with  his  body. 

There  was  a  tutor  now  at  Tracy  Park  for  Jack,  but 
Maude  had  been  transferred  to  Arthur's  care.  This  was 
wholly  due  to  Jerry,  who  alone  could  have  induced  him  to 
let  Maude  share  her  instruction.  Arthur  did  not  care  for 
Maude.  She  was  dull,  he  said,  and  would  never  have  her 
lessons.  But  Jerry  coaxed  so  hard  that  Arthur  consented 
at  last,  and  when  Jerry  had  been  with  him  about  three 
years,  Maude  became  his  pupil,  and  that  of  Jerry  as  well, 
for  nearly  every  day  when  the  lessons  were  over,  the  two 
little  girls  might  have  been  seen  sitting  together  under  the 
trees  in  the  park,  or  in  some  corner  of  the  house,  Maude 
puzzled,  and  perplexed,  and  worried,  and  Jerry  anxious, 
decided,  and  peremptory,  as  she  went  over  and  over  again, 
with  what  was  so  clear  to  her  and  so  hazy  to  her  friend. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  suz,  what  does  ail  you  ?"  she  said  one 
day,  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot,  after  she  had  tried  in  vain 
to  make  Maude  see  through  a  simple  sum  in  long  division. 
"  Can't  you  remember  first  to  divide,  second  multiply, 
third  subtract,  and  fourth  bring  down  ?" 

"No,  I  can't.  I  can't  remember  anything,  and  if  I 
could,  how  do  I  know  what  to  divide  or  what  to  bring 
down  ?  I  am  stupid,  and  shall  never  know  anything," 
was  Maude's  sobbing  reply,  as  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  slate. 

Maude's  tears  always  moved  Jerry,  who  tried  to  comfort 
her  with  the  assurance  that  if  she  tried  very  hard,  she 
might  some  time  know  enough  to  teach  a  district  school. 
This  was  the  height  of  Jerry's  ambition,  to  teach  a  district 
school  and  board  around  ;  but  Maude's  aspirations  were 


ARTHVRS    PLAN.  16? 

different.  She  was  rich.  She  was  to  be  a  belle  and  wear 
diamonds  and  satins  like  her  mother  ;  and  it  did  not  matter 
so  much  whether  she  understood  long  division  or  not, 
though  it  did  hurt  her  a  little  to  be  so  far  outstripped  by 
Jeriy,  who  was  younger  than  herself. 

To  Arthur,  Jerry  was  a  constant  delight  and  surprise, 
and  nothing  astonished  or  pleased  him  more  than  the  avid- 
ity with  which  she  took  up  German.  This  language  was 
like  play  to  her,  and  by  the  time  she  was  ten  years  old  she 
spoke,  and  read,  and  wrote  it  almost  as  well  as  Arthur  him- 
self. 

"  It  takes  me  back  somewhere,  I  can't  tell  where,"  she 
said  to  him  ;  "  and  I  seem  to  be  somebody  else  than  Jerry 
Crawford,  and  I  hear  music  and  see  people,  and  a  pale  face 
is  close  to  me,  and  my  head  gets  all  confused  trying  to 
remember  things  which  come  and  go." 

Only  once  after  her  first  day  at  the  park  had  she  enacted 
the  pantomime  of  the  sick  woman  and  the  nurse,  and  then 
she  had  done  it  at  Arthur's  request.  But  it  was  nut  quite 
as  thrilling  as  at  first  ;  the  him  for  whom  the  dying  woman 
had  prayed  was  omitted,  and  the  whole  was  mixed  with  the 
Tramp  House,  and  the  carpet-bag,  and  Harold,  who  was 
now  a  youth  of  seventeen,  and  a  student  at  the  high-school 
in  Shannondale,  where  he  was  making  as  rapid  progress  in 
his  ?tudies  as  Jerry  was  at  the  park, 

But  Harold's  life  was  not  as  serene  and  happy  as  Jer- 
ry's, f.or  it  was  not  pleasant  for  him  to  hear,  as  he  often 
did,  that  he  was  a  charity  student,  supported  by  Arthur 
Tracy.  Such  remarks  were  very  galling  to  the  high- 
spirited  boy,  and  he  was  constantly  revolving  all  manner  of 
echemes  by  which  he  could  earn  money  and  cease  to  be 
dependent.  All  through  the  long  summer  vacations,  he 
worked  at  whatever  he  could  find  to  do,  sometimes  in  peo- 
ple's gardens,  sometimes  on  their  lawns,  but  oftener  in  the 
hay-fields,  where  he  earned  the  most,  Here  Jerry  was  not 
unfrequently  his  companion.  She  liked  to  rake  hay,  she 
said  ;  it  came  natural  to  her,  and  she  had  no  doubt  she 
inherited  the  taste  from  her  mother,  who  had  probably 
worked  in  the  fields  in  Germany. 

One  afternoon,  when  Jerold  knew  that  Harold  was  busy 
in  one  of  Mr.  Tracy's  meadows,  she  started  to  join  him,  for 
he  had  complained  of  a  headache  at  noon,  and  had  expressed 


168  Tm  WORKING  of 

a  fear  that  he  might  not  be  able  to  finish  the  task  lie  had 
imposed  upon  himself.  The  road  to  the  field  was  by  the 
Tramp  House,  which  looked  so  cool  and  quiet,  with  its 
thick  covering  of  woodbine  and  ivy  over  it,  that  Jerry 
turned  aside  for  a  moment  to  look  into  the  room  which  had 
so  great  a  fascination  for  her,  and  where  she  spent  so  much 
time.  Indeed,  she  seldom  passed  near  it  without  going  in 
for  a  moment  and  standing  by  the  old  table  which  had  once 
held  her  and  her  dead  mother.  Things  came  back  to  her 
there,  she  said,  and  she  could  almost  give  a  name  to  the 
pale-faced  woman  who  haunted  her  so  often. 

As  she  entered  the  damp,  dark  place  now,  she  started 
with  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  which  was  echoed  by  an- 
other, as  Frank  Tracy  sprang  up  and  confronted  her.  It 
was  not  often  that  he  visited  the  Tramp  House,  and  he 
would  not  have  confessed  to  any  one  his  superstitions  dread 
of  it,  or  that,  when  he  was  in  it,  he  always  had  a  feeling 
that  the  dead  woman  found  there  years  ago  would  start  up 
to  accuse  him  of  his  deceit  and  hypocrisy.  Could  he  have 
had  his  way  he  would  have  pulled  the  building  down  ;  but 
it  was  not  his,  and  when  he  suggested  it  to  Arthur,  as  he 
sometimes  did,  the  latter  opposed  it,  saying  latterly,  since 
Jerry  had  been  so  much  to  him; 

"  No,  Frank  ;  let  it  stand.  I  like  it,  because,  but  for 
it,  Jerry  might  have  perished  with  her  mother,  and  I  should 
not  have  had  her  with  me." 

So  the  Tramp  House  stood,  and  grew  damper  and 
mustier  each  year,  as  the  moss  and  ivy  gathered  on  the 
walls  outside,  and  the  dust  and  cobwebs  gathered  on  the 
walls  within.  These,  however,  Jerry  was  careful  to  brush 
away,  for  she  had  a  play-house  in  one  corner,  and  a  little 
work-bench  and  chair,  and  she  often  sat  there  alone  and 
talked  to  herself,  and  the  woman  dead  so  long  ago,  and  to 
others  whose  faces  were  dim  and  shadowy,  but  whom  she 
felt  sure  she  had  known.  Very  frequently  she  went  through 
the  process  of  cleaning  up,  as  she  called  it,  and  her  object 
in  stopping  there  now  was,  in  part,  to  see  if  it  did  not  need 
her  care  again. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Tracy  !  are  you  here  ?  How  you  scared  me  ! 
I  thought  it  was  a  tramp  I"  she  said,  as  he  came  toward  her. 

"Do  you  come  here  often  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  offered  her 
his  hand. 


ARTHUR'S    PL AN~.  169 

"  Yes,  pretty  often.  I  like  it,  because  mother  died  here, 
and  sometimes  1  feel  as  if  she  would  make  it  known  to  me 
here  who  she  was.  I  talk  to  her  and  ask  her  to  tell  me, 
but  she  never  has.  Oh,  don't  you  wish  she  would  ?" 

Frank  shuddered  involuntarily,  for  to  have  Jerry  told 
who  she  really  was,  was  the  last  thing  he  could  desire,  but 
as  a  criminal  is  said  always  to  talk  about  the  crime  he  has 
committed  and  is  hiding,  so  Frank,  when  with  Jerry,  felt 
impelled  to  talk  with  her  of  the  past  and  what  she  could 
remember  of  it.  Seating  himself  upon  the  bench  with  her 
at  his  side,  he  said  : 

"And  you  really  believe  the  woman  found  here  was 
your  mother  ?" 

"  Why,  yes.  Don't  you  ?  Who  was  my  mother,  if  she 
wasn't  ?"  and  Jerry's  eyes  opened  wide  as  they  looked  at 
him. 

"I  don't  know,  I  am  sure.  Does  my  brother  talk  of 
Greteht-n  now  ?"  was  the  abrupt  reply. 

"  Yes,  at  times,"  Jerry  answered  ;  "  and  yesterday,  after 
I  sung  him  a  little  German  song,  which  he  taught  me,  he 
had  them  pretty  bad — the  bees  in  his  head,  I  mean  ;  that  is 
what  he  calls  it  when  things  are  mixed  ;  and  he  says  he  is 
going:  to  write  to  her,  or  her  friends." 

"\Vriteto  her!  I  thought  he  had  given  that  up.  I 

thought  he Did  he  say, '  Write  to  her  friends  ?' "  Frank 

gasped,  as  he  felt  himself  grow  cold  and  sick  with  this 
threatened  danger. 

Arthur  h;id  seemed  so  quiet  and  happy  with  Jerry,  and 

had  said  so  little  of  Gretchen,  that  Frank  had  grown  quite 

in  his  mind,  and  the  black  shadow  of  fear  did  not 

trouble  him  as  much  as  formerly.     But  now  it  was  over 

him  again,  and  grew  in  intensity  as  he  questioned  the  child. 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  to  find  out  who  Gretchen  is  ?"  he 
asked,  at  last. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "but  I  guess  she  is  his  wife." 

"Yes,"  Frank  said,  falteringly,  "his  wife;  and  where 
do  you  think  she  lived  ?" 

"Oh,  I  know  that.  In  Wiesbaden.  He  told  me  so 
once,  and  it  seems  as  if  I  had  been  there,  too,  when  he 
talked  a!>out  it,  and  I  hear  the  mu^ic  and  see  the  flouvrs, 
and  a  white-faced  woman  is  with  me,  not  at  all  like 
mother,  who,  they  say,  was  ugly  and  dark ;  black  as  a 


170  TEE    WORKING    OF 

nigger,  Tom  told  me  once,  when  he  was  mad.  Was  she 
black  ?" 

Mr.  Tracy  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  said,  suddenly  : 

' ( Jerry,  do  you  like  me  well  enough  to  do  me  a  great 
favor  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  I  guess  I  do.  I  like  you  very  much,  though 
not  as  well  as  I  do  Harold  and  Mr.  Arthur.  What  do  you 
want  ?"  was  Jerry's  answer. 

After  hesitating  a  moment,  Mr.  Tracy  began 

"There  are  certain  reasons  why  I  ought  to  know  if  my 
brother  writes  to  Gretchen,  or  her  friends,  or  any  one  in 
Germany,  especially  Wiesbaden.  A  letter  of  that  kin*& 
might  do  me  a  great  deal  of  harm  ;  if  he  should  write  to 
any  one  in  Germany,  you  would,  perhaps,  be  asked  to  post 
the  letter,  as  he  never  goes  to  town  ?" 

He  said  this  interrogatively,  and  Jerry  answered  him, 
promptly  : 

"I  think  he  would  give  it  to  me,  as  I  post  nearly  all 
his  letters." 

"  Yes,  well ;  Jerry,  can  you  keep  a  secret,  and  never  tell 
any  one  what  I  am  saying  to  you  ?"  was  Frank's  next 
remark,  to  which  Jerry  responded  : 

"I  think  I  should  tell  Harold,  and,  perhaps,  Mr. 
Arthur." 

"  No,  no,  Jerry,  never  !"  and  Frank  laid  his  hand  half 
menacingly  upon  the  little  girl's  shoulder.  "  I  have  been 
kind  to  you,  have  paid  for  your  board  to  Mrs.  Crawford 
ever  since  you  have  been  there  " — 

He  felt  how  mean  it  was  to  say  this,  and  did  not  at  all 
resent  Jerry's  quick  reply  : 

"Yes,  but  Mrs.  Peterkin  says  you  do  not  pay  enough." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  continued;  "but  if  Mrs.  Crawford 
is  satisfied,  it  matters  little  what  Mrs.  Peterkin  thinks. 
Jerry,  you  must  do  this  for  me,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  as 
his  fears  kept  growing.  "  You  must  never  tell  any  one  of 
our  conversation,  and  if  my  brother  writes  that  letter  soon, 
or  at  any  time,  you  must  bring  it  to  me.  Will  you  do  it  ? 
Great  harm  would  come  if  it  were  sent — barm  to  me,  and 
harm  to  Maude,  and  " — 

"  To  Maude  !"  Jerry  repeater!.  "  I  would  do  anything 
for  Maude.  Yes,  I  will  bring  the  letter  to  you  if  he  writes 
one.  You  are  sure  it  would  be  right  for  me  to  do  so  ?" 


PLAX.  171 

Frank  had  touched  the  right  chord  when  he  mentioned 
his  daughter's  name,  for  during  the  years  of  close  compan- 
ionship the  two  little  girls  had  learned  to  love  each  other 
devotedly,  though  naturally  Jerry's  was  the  stronger  and 
less  selfish  attachment  of  the  two.  To  her  Maude  was  a 
queen  who  had  a  right  to  tyrannize  over  and  command  her 
if  she  pleased  ;  and  as  the  tyranny  was  never  very  severe, 
and  was  usu.-tlly  followed  by  some  generous  act  of  contrition, 
she  did  not  mind  it  at  all,  and  was  always  ready  to  make 
up  and  he  friends  whenever  it  suited  the  capricious  little 
lady. 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  it  for  Maude,"  she  said  again  ;  but  there 
was  a  troubled  look  on  her  face,  and  a  feeling  in  her  heart 
as  if,  in  some  way,  she  was  false  to  Arthur  in  thus  consent- 
ing to  his  brother's  wishes. 

But,  she  reflected,  Arthur  was  crazy,  so  people  said,  and 
she  herself  knew  better  than  any  one  else  of  his  many  fanci- 
ful vagaries,  which,  at  times,  took  the  form  of  actual 
insanity.  For  weeks  he  would  seem  perfectly  rational,  and 
then  suddenly  his  mood  would  change,  and  he  would  talk 
strange  things  to  himself  and  the  child,  who  was  now  so 
-.uy  to  him,  and  who  alone  had  a  soothing  influence 
over  him.  Only  the  day  before,  he  had  been  unusually 
excited,  after  listening  to  a  simple  air  which  he  had  taught 
her,  and  which,  at  his  request,  she  sang  to  him  after  Maude 
had  gone  out  and  left  them  alone. 

"  I  could  swear  you  were  Gretchen,  singing  to  me  in 
the  twilight,  and  across  the  meadow  comes  the  tinkle  of 
the  bells  where  the  cows  and  goats  are  feeding,"  he  said  to 
her,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room. 

Then,  stopping  suddenly,  he  went  up  to  her,  and  push- 
ing her  hair  from  her  forehead,  looked  long  and  earnestly 
into  her  face. 

"Cherry,"  he  said  at  last,  using  the  pet  name  he  often 
gave  her,  "you  are  some  like  Gretchen  as  she  must  have 
been  when  of  your  age.  Oh,  if  you  only  were  hers  and 
mine  !  But  there  was  no  child  ;  and  yet — and  yet — " 

lie  seemed  to  be  thinking  intently  for  a  moment,  and 

then,  going  to  a  drawer  in  his  writing-desk  which  Jerry 

had  never  seen  open  before,  he  took  out  a  worn,  yellow  let- 

Jid  ran  his  eye  rapidly  over  it  until  he  found  a  certain 

paragraph,  which  be  bade  Jerry  read. 


It2  THE    WORKING    OF 

The  paragraph  was  as  follows: 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you  when  you  come,  which  I 
am  sure  will  make  you  as  glad  as  I  am." 

Jerry  read  it  aloud  slowly,  for  the  handwriting  was 
cramped  and  irregular,  and  then  looked  up  questioningly 
to  Arthur,  who  said  to  her: 

"  What  do  you  think  she  meant  by  the  something 
which  would  make  me  glad  as  she  was  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Jerry  answered  him.  "Who  wrote 
it  ?  Gretehen  ?" 

"  Yes,  Gretehen.  It  is  her  last  letter  to  me,  and  I 
never  went  back  to  see  what  she  meant,  for  the  bees  were 
bad  in  my  head  and  I  forgot  everything,  even  Gretehen 
herself.  Poor  little  Gretehen  !  What  was  the  idea  which 
came  to  me  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  in  regard  to  this  let- 
ter, when  I  heard  you  sing?  It  is  gone,  and  I  cannot 
recall  it." 

There  was  a  worried,  anxious  look  on  his  face  as  he  put 
the  letter  away,  and  went  on  talking  to  himself  of  Gretehen, 
saying  he  was  going  to  write  her  again,  or  her  friends,  and 
find  out  what  she  meant. 

The  next  day  Jerry  met  Frank  in  the  Tramp  House,  as 
Ve  have  described,  and  gave  him  the  promise  to  bring  him 
any  letter  directed  to  Germany  which  Arthur  might  entrust 
to  her.  But  the  promise  weighed  heavily  upon  her  as  she 
walked  slowly  on  toward  the  field  where  Harold  was  at 
work,  and  where  she  found  him  resting  for  a  moment  under 
ihe  shadow  of  a  wide-spreading  butternut.  He  looked 
tired  and  pale,  and  there  was  an  expression  on  his  face 
which  Jerry  did  not  understand. 

Harold  was  not  in  a  very  happy  frame  of  mind.  X;;t- 
urally  cheerful  and  hopeful,  it  was  not  often  that  he  gave 
way  to  fits  of  despondency,  or  repining  at  his  humble  lot, 
so  different  from  that  of  the  boys  of  his  own  age,  with 
whom  he  came  in  daily  contact,  both  at  school  and  in  the 
town. 

Dick  St.  Claire,  his  most  intimate  friend,  always  treated 
him  as  if  he  were  fully  his  equal,  and  often  stood  between 
him  and  the  remarks  which  boys  make  thoughtlessly,  and 
which,  while  they  mean  so  little,  wound  to  the  quick  such 
sensitive  natures  as  Harold's.  But  not  even  Dick  St. 
Claire  could  keep  Tom  Tracy  in  check.  With  each  sue- 


ARTHUR'S    PLAN.  173 

cceding  year  lie  grew  more  and  more  supercillious  and 
unbearable,  pluming  himself  upon  his  position  as  a  Tracy 
of  Tracy  Park,  and  the  wealth  he  was  to  inherit  from  his 
Uncle  Arthur.  For  the  last  year  he  had  been  at  Andover, 
where  he  had  formed  a  new  set  of  acquaintances,  one  of 
whom  was  spending  the  vacation  with  him.  This  was 
young  Fred  Raymond,  whose  home  was  at  Red  Stone  Hall, 
in  Kentucky,  and  whose  parents  were  in  Europe.  Between 
th"  t\vo  youths  there  was  but  little  similarity  of  taste  or 
disposition,  for  young  Raymond  represented  all  that  was 
noble  and  true,  and  though  proud  of  his  State  and  proud 
of  his  name,  he  never  assumed  the  slightest  superiority  over 
those  whom  the  world  considered  his  inferiors.  lie  was 
Tom's  room-mate,  and  hence  the  intimacy  between  them 
which  had  resulted  in  Fred's  accepting  the  invitation  to 
Tracy  Park.  If  anything  had  been  wanting  to  complete 
Tom's  estimate  of  his  own  importance  this  visit  of  the  Ken- 
ttickian  would  have  done  it.  All  his  former  friends  were 
cut  except  Dick  St.  Claire,  while  Harold  was  as  much 
ignored  as  if  he  had  never  existed.  Tom  did  not  even  see 
him  or  recognize  him  with  so  much  as  a  look,  but  passed 
him  by  as  he  would  any  common  day  laborer  whom  he 
might  chance  to  meet.  All  through  the  summer  days, 
while  Harold  was  working  until  every  bone  in  his  body 
ached,  Tom  and  his  friend  were  enjoying  themselves  in 
hunting,  fishing,  driving,  or  rowing,  or  lounging  under  the 
trees  in  the  shady  lawns. 

That  afternoon,  when  Jerry  joined  him  in  the  hayfield, 
Tom  and  the  Kentuckian  had  passed  him  in  their  fanciful 
hunting-suits,  with  their  dogs  and  guns,  but  though  Harold 
was  within  a  few  yards  of  them,  Tom  affected  not  to  see 
him,  and  kept  his  head  turned  the  other  way,  as  if  intent 
upon  some  object  in  the  distance. 

Leaning  upon  his  rake,  Harold  watched  them  out  of 
sight,  with  a  choking  sensation  in  his  throat,  as  he  wondered 
if  it  would  always  be  thus  with  him,  and  if  the  day  would 
never  come  when  he,  too,  could  know  what  leisure  meant, 
with  no  thought  for  the  morrow's  bread. 

"  I  am  Tom's  superior  in  everything  but  money,and  yet 
he  treats  me  like  a  dog/'  he  said,  as  he  seated  himself  upon 
the  grass,  where  he  sat  fanning  himself  with  his  straw 
hat,  «• 


174  ARTHURS    PLANS. 

"When  Jerry  appeared  in  view  he  brightened  at  once,  for 
in  all  the  world  there  was  nothing  half  so  sweet  and  lovely 
to  him  as  the  little  blue-eyed  girl  who  sat  down  beside  him, 
and,  nestling  close  to  him,  laid  her  curly  head  upon  his 
arm. 

•"Fve  come  to  help  you  rake  the  hay ,"  she  said,  ' '  for 
grandma  told  me  you  had  a  headache  at  noon,  and  could "nfc 
eat  your  huckleberry  pie.  I  am  awfu.ly  sorry,  Harold, 
but  I  ate  it  myself,  it  looked  so  good,  instead  of  saving  it 
for  your  supper.  It  was  nasty  and  mean  in  me,  and  I  hope 
it  will  make  me  sick." 

But  Harold  told  her  he  did  not  care  for  the  pie,  and 
was  glad  that  she  ate  it  if  she  liked  it.  Then  he  questioned 
her  of  the  park  house  and  of  Arthur,  asking  if  the  bees 
were  often  in  his  head  now,  or  had  she  driven  them  out. 

"No,  I  guess  I  haven't.  They  were  awful  yesterday,'' 
Jerry  replied.  "  He  was  talking  of  Gretchen  all  the  time. 
I  wonder  who  she  was.  Sometimes  I  look  at  her  until  it 
seems  to  me  I  have  seen  her  or  something  like  her,  a  paler 
face  with  sadder  eyes.  How  he  must  have  loved  her,  better 
than  you  or  I  could  ever  love  anybody  ;  don't  you  think 
so?" 

Harold  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  replied  : 

"  I  don't  know,  but  it  seems  to  me  I  love  you  as  much 
as  one  could  ever  love  another." 

"  Phoo  !  Of  cuurse  you  do  ;  but  that's  boy  love  ;  that 
isn't  like  when  you  are  old  enough  to  have  a  beau  !"  and 
Jerry  laughed  merrily,  as  she  sprang  up,  and,  taking  Har- 
old's rake,  began  to  toss  the  hay  about  rapidly,  bidding 
him  sit  still  and  see  how  fast  she  could  work  in  his  place. 

Harold  was  very  tired,  and  his  head  was  aching  badly, 
so  for  a  time  he  sat  still,  watching  the  graceful  move- 
ments of  the  beautiful  child,  who,  it  seemed  to  him,  was 
slipping  away  from  him.  Constant  intercourse  Mth  a  pol- 
ished man  like  Arthur  Tracy  had  not  been  without  its 
effect  upon  her,  and  there  was  about  her  an  air  which 
with  strangers  would  have  placed  her  at  once  above  the  ordin- 
ary level  of  simple  country  girls.  This  Harold  had  been 
the  first  to  detect,  and  though  he  rejoiced  at  Jerry's  good 
fortune,  there  was  always  with  him  a  dread  lest  she  should 
grow  beyond  him,  and  that  he  should  lose  the  girl  he  loved 
so  much. 


MRS.     TRACT'S    DIAMONDS.  175 

"  What  if  she  should  think  me  a  clown  and  a  clodhop- 
per, as  Tom  Tracy  does  ?"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  watched 
her  raking  up  the  hay  faster,  and  quite  as  well  as  he  could 
have  done  himself.  "  I  believe  1  should  die." 

It  was  impossible  that  Jerry  should  have  guessed  the 
nature  of  Harold's  thoughts,  but  once,  as  she  passed  near 
him,  she  dropped  her  rake,  and  going  up  to  him,  wiped 
his  forehead  with  her  apron,  and,  kissing  him  fondly,  said 
to  him  : 

"  Poor,  tired  boy,  is  your  head  awful  ?  You  look  as  if 
you  wanted  to  vomit  ?  Do  you  ?" 

".No,  Jerry,"  Harold  answered,  laughingly.  "I  am 
not  as  bad  as  that.  I  was  only  wishing  that  1  were  rich 
and  could  give  you  and  grandma  a  home  as  handsome  as 
Tracy  Park.  How  would  you  like  it  ?" 

"  First-rate,  if  you  were  there,"  Jerry  replied  ;  "  but  if 
you  were  not  I  shouldn't  like  it  at  all.  I  never  mean  to 
live  anywhere  without  you  ;  because,  you  know  I  am  your 
little  girl,  the  one  you  found  in  the  carpet-bag,  and  I  love 
you  more  than  all  the  world,  and  will  love  and  stand  by 
you  forever  and  ever,  amen  !" 

She  said  the  last  so  abruptly,  and  it  sounded  so  oddly, 
that  Harold  burst  into  a  laugh,  and  taking  up  the  rake  she 
had  dropped,  began  his  work  again,  declaring  that  the 
headache  was  gone,  and  that  he  was  a  great  deal  better. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

MES.   TRACY'S  DIAMONDS.  • 

MRS.  TRACY  was  going  to  have  a  party — not  a  general 
one,  like  that  which  she  gave  when  our  readers  first 
knew  her,  and  Harold  Hastings  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  and  bade  "  the  ladies  go  this  way  and  the  gentlemen 
that."  Since  she  had  become  a  leader  of  fashion,  she  had 
ignored  general  parties  and  limited  her  invitations  to  a 
select  few,  which,  on  this  occasion,  numbered  about  sixty 
or  seventy.  But  the  entertainment  was  prepared  as  elabo- 
rately as  if  hundreds  had  been  expected,  and  the  hostess 


176  MRS.     TKACY'S    DIAMONDS. 

was  radi-mt  in  satin,  and  lace,  and  diamonds,  as  she  received 
her  guests  and  did  the  honors  of  the  occasion. 

The  September  night  was  soft  and  warm,  and  the 
grounds  were  lighted  up,  while  quite  a  crowd  collected 
near  the  house  to  hear  the  music  and  watch  the  proceed- 
ings. 

Mrs.  Tracy  would  have  liked  to  have  Jerry  in  the  upper 
hall,  where  Harold  had  once  stood. 

"  It  would  help  to  keep  the  child  in  her  place,"  she 
thought. 

But  her  husband  promptly  vetoed  the  proposition,  say- 
ing that  when  Jerry  Crawford  came  to  the  park  house  to 
an  entertainment  it  would  be  as  a  guest,  and  not  as  a 
waiter.  So  a  colored  boy  stood  in  the  upper  hall,  and  a 
colored  boy  stood  in  the  lower  hall,  and  there  were  colored 
waiters  everywhere,  and  Dolly  had  never  been  happier  or 
prouder  in  her  life  ;  for  Governor  Markham  and  his  wife, 
from  Iowa,  were  there,  and  a  judge's  wife  from  Springfield 
— all  gr.ests  of  Grace  Atherton,  and,  in  consequence,  bidden 
to  the  party. 

Another  remarkable  feature  of  the  evening  was  the 
presence  of  Arthur  in  the  parlors.  He  had  known  both 
Governor  Maikham  and  his  wife,  Ethelyn  Grant,  and  had 
been  present  at  their  wedding,  and  it  was  mostly  on  their 
account  that  he  had  consented  to  join  in  the  festivities. 
Jerry,  it  is  true,  had  done  a  great  d<-al  toward  persuading 
him  to  go  down,  repeating,  in  her  own  peculiar  way,  what 
she  had  heard  people  say  with  regard  to  his  seclusion  from 
society. 

"  You  jnst  make  a  hermit  of  yourself,"  she  said, 
"cooped  up  here  all  the  time.  I  don't  wonder  folks  say 
you  are  c*azy.  It  is  enough  to  make  anybody  crazy,  to 
stay  in  one  or  two  rooms  and  see  nobody  but  Charles  and 
me.  Just  dress  yourself  in  your  best  clothes  and  go  down 
and  be  somebody,  and  don't  talk  of  Gretchen  all  the  time  ! 
I  am  tired  of  it,  and  so  is  everybody.  Give  her  a  rest  for 
one  evening,  and  show  the  people  how  nice  you  can  be  if 
you  only  have  a  mind  to." 

Jerry  delivered  this  speech  with  her  hands  on  her  hips, 
and  with  all  the  air  of  a  woman  of  fifty  ;  while  Arthur 
laughed  immoderately,  and  promised  her  to  do  his  best  not 
to  disgrace  her, 


MRS.     TRACTS    DIAMONDS.  177 

Jerry's  anxiety  was  something  like  that  of  a  mother  for 
a  child  whose  ability  she  doubts  ;  and,  after  her  supper  was 
over,  she  took  her  way  to  the  park  house  to  see  that  Arthur 
was  dressed  properly  for  the  occasion. 

"  It  would  be  like  him  to  go  without  his  neck-tie  and 
wear  his  every-day  boots/'  she  thought. 

But  she  found  him  as  faultlessly  gotten  up  as  he  well 
could  be  in  his  old-fashioned  evening  dress,  which  sac 
rather  loosely  upon  him,  for  he  had  grown  thinner  witL 
each  succeeding  year. 

Jerry  thought  him  splendid,  and  watched  him  admir- 
ingly as  he  left  thr>  room  and  started  for  the  parlors,  wit  a 
her  last  injunction  ringing  in  his  ears: 

"  Not  a  word  out  of  your  head  about  Gretchen,  but  t:.y 
and  act  as  if  you  were  not  crazy." 

"  I'll  do  it,  Cherry.  Don't  you  worry,"  he  said  to  hei , 
with  a  little  reassuring  nod,  as  he  descended  the  stairs. 

And  he  kept  his  promise  well.  There  was  no  word  out 
of  his  head  about  Gretchen,  and  no  one  ignorant  of  the 
fact  would  ever  have  suspected  that  his  mind  was  unsettled  as 
he  moved  among  the  guests,  talking  to  one  and  another  witL 
that  pleasant,  courtly  manner  so  natural  to  him.  A  very 
close  observer,  however,  might  have  seen  his  eyes  dilate 
and  even  flash  with  some  sudden  emotion  when  his  brother's 
wife  passed  him  and  her  brilliant  diamonds  sparkled  in  the 
bright  gas-light.  The  setting  was  rather  peculiar,  but  Mr?. 
Tracy  liked  it  for  the  peculiarity,  and  had  never  had  it 
dianged.  She  was  very  proud  of  her  diamonds,  they  were 
so  large  and  clear,  and  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  there  were  no  finer,  if  as  fine,  in  town.*  She  seemed 
to  know,  too,  just  in  what  light  to  place  herself  in  order  to 
show  them  to  the  best  advantage,  and  at  times  the  gleams 
of  lire  from  them  were  wonderful,  and  once  Arthur  put  his 
hand  before  his  eyes  as  she  passed  him,  and  muttering 
something  to  himself  moved  quickly  to  another  part  of  the 
room.  This  was  late  in  the  evening,  and  soon  after  he 
excused  himself  to  those  around  him,  saying  it  was  not 
often  that  he  dissipated  like  this,  and  as  he  was  growing 
tired  he  must  say  good-night. 

The  next  morning  Charles  found  him  looking  very  pale 
and  worn,  with  a  bad  pain  in  his  head.  lie  had  not  slrpi 
at  all,  he  said,  and  would  have  his  coffee  in  bed,  U!'UT 
8» 


178  MB8.    TRACT'S   DIAMONDS. 

which  Charles  was  to  leave  him  alone  and  not  come  back 
until  he  rang  for  him,  as  he  might  possibly  fall  asleep. 

It  was  very  late  that  morning  when  the  family  break- 
fasted, and  as  they  lingered  around  the  table,  discussing 
the  events  of  the  previous  night,  it  was  after  eleven  o'clock 
when  at  last  Mrs.  Tracy  went  up  to  her  room. 

As  she  ascended  the  stairs,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Har- 
old disappearing  through  a  door  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
hall,  evidently  with  the  intention  of  going  down  the  back 
stairway  and  making  his  exit  from  the  house  by  the  rear 
door,  rather  than  the  front.  Mrs.  Tracy  knew  that  he  was 
sometimes  sent  by  his  grandmother  on  some  errand  to 
Arthur,  and  giving  no  further  thought  to  the  matter  went 
on  to  her  own  room,  which  her  maid  had  put  in  order. 
All  the  paraphernalia  of  last  night's  toilet  was  put  away, 
diamonds  and  all.  Contrary  to  her  usual  custom,  for  she 
was  very  careful  of  her  diamonds,  and  very  much  afraid 
they  would  be  stolen,  she  had  left  them  in  the  box  on  her 
dressing  bureau.  But  they  were  not  there  now.  Sarah, 
who  knew  where  she  kept  them,  had  put  them  away,  of 
course,  and  she  gave  them  no  more  thought  until  three 
days  later,  when  she  received  an  invitation  to  a  lunch  party 
at  Brier  Hill. 

"  I  shall  wear  my  dark  blue  satin  and  diamonds/'  she 
said  to  her  maid,  who  was  dressing  her  hair,  but  the  dia- 
monds, when  looked  for,  were  not  in- their  usual  place. 

Sarah  had  not  put  them  away,  nor  in  fact  had  she  seen 
them  at  all,  for  they  were  not  upon  the  bureau  when  she 
went  to  arrange  her  mistress'  room  the  morning  after  the 
party.  The  diamonds  were  gone,  nor  could  any  amount  of 
searching  bring  them  to  light,  and  Mrs.  Tracy  grew  cold, 
and  sick,  and  faint,  and  finally  broke  down  in  a  fit  of  cry- 
ing, as  she  explained  to  her  husband  that  her  beautiful 
diamonds  were  stolen.  She  called  it  that,  now,  and  the 
whole  household  was  roused  and  questioned  as  to  when  and 
where  each  had  last  seen  the  missing  jewels.  But  no  one 
had  seen  them  since  they  were  in  the  lady's  ears,  and  she 
knew  she  had  left  them  upon  her  bureau  when  she  went 
down  to  breakfast.  She  was  positive  of  that.  No  one  had 
been  in  the  room,  or  that  part  of  the  house,  except  Tom, 
Fred  Eaymond,  Charles,  and  Sarah.  Of  these  the  first  two 
were  not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment,  while  the  last  two 


MBS.     TRACTS    DIAMONDS.  179 

had  been  iii  the  family  for  years,  and  were  above  suspicion. 
Clearly,  then,  it  was  some  one  from  outside,  who  had 
watched  his  or  her  opportunity  and  come  in. 

"  Had  any  one  been  seen  about  the  house  at  that  hour?" 
Frank  asked,  and  Charles  remembered  having  met  Harold 
Hastings  coming  out  of  the  rear  door  ;  "  but,"  he  added, 
"  I  would  sooner  suspect  myself  than  him/' 

And  this  was  the  verdict  of  all  except  Mrs.  Tracy,  who 
now  recalled  the  fact  that  she,  too,  had  seen  Harold 
"  sneaking  through  the  door  as  if  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
seen/' 

That  was  the  way  she  expressed  herself,  and  her  man- 
ner had  in  it  more  meaning  even  than  her  words. 

"  What  was  Harold  doing  in  the  house  ?  What  was  his 
errand?  Does  any  one  know?"  she  asked,  but  no  one  vol- 
unteered any  information  until  Charles  suggested  that  he 
probably  came  on  some  errand  to  Mr.  Arthur  ;  he  would 
inquire,  he  said,  and  he  went  at  once  to  his  master's  room. 

Arthur  was  sitting  by  his  writing  desk,  busy  with  a 
letter,  and  did  not  turn  his  head  when  Charles  asked  if  he 
remembered  whether  Harold  Hastings  had  been  to  his 
room  the  morning  after  the  party. 

"  No,  I  have  not  seen  him  for  more  than  a  week,"  was 
the  reply. 

"  But  he  must  have  been  here  that  morning,"  Charles 
continued.  "  Try  and  think." 

"  I  tell  you  no  one  was  here.  I  am  not  quite  demented 
yet.  Now  go.  Don't  you  see  you  are  interrupting  me  ?" 
was  Arthur's  rather  savage  response,  and  without  having 
gained  any  satisfactory  information,  Charles  returned  to 
the  group  anxiously  awaiting  him. 

"  Well?"  was  Mrs.  Tracy's  sharp  interrogatory,  to 
which  Charles  responded : 

"  He  does  not  remember  what  happened  that  morning ; 
but  that  is  not  strange.  He  was  very  tired  and  unusually 
excited  after  the  party,  and  when  he  is  that  way  he  does 
not  remember  anything.  Harold  might  have  been  there 
a  dozen  times  and  he  would  forget  it." 

"  Bring  the  boy,  then.  He  will  know  what  he  was 
doing  here,"  was  Mrs.  Tracy's  next  peremptory  remark, 
and  her  husband  said  to  her,  reproachfully  : 


180  MBS.     TRACY'S    DIAMONDS. 

"  Surely  you  do  not  intend  to  charge  him  with  the 
theft  ?" 

"  I  charge  no  one  with  the  theft  until  it  is  proven 
against  him  ;  but  I  must  see  the  boy  and  know  what  lie  was 
doing  here.  I  never  liked  this  free  running  in  and  out  by 
those  people  in  the  lane.  I  always  knew  something  would 
come  of  it,"  Mrs.  Tracy  said,  and  Charles  was  dispatched 
for  Harold. 

He  found  him  mowing  the  lawn  for  a  gentleman  whose 
premises  joined  Tracy  Park,  and  without  any  explanation 
told  him  that  he  was  wanted  immediately  at  the  park 
house. 

"But  it  is  noon,"  Harold  said,  glancing  up  at  the  sun. 
e<  And  there  is  Jerry  coming  to  call  me  to  dinner." 

"  Better  come  at  once.  Jerry  can  go  with  you,  if  she 
likes,"  Charles  said,  feeling  intuitively  that  in  the  little 
girl  Harold  would  find  a  champion. 

Harold  left  his  lawn  mower,  and  explaining  to  Jerry 
that  he  had  been  summoned  to  the  park  house,  whither 
she  could  accompany  him  if  she  chose,  he  starred  with  her 
and  Charles,  whom  he  questioned  as  to  what  was  wanted 
with  him. 

"  Were  you  in  the  park  house  the  morning  after  the 
party  ?  That  would  be  Tuesday,"  Charles  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  went  to  see  Mr.  Arthur  Tracy,  but  could  get 
no  answer  to  my  knock,"  Harold  promptly  replied,  while 
his  face  flushed  scarlet,  and  he  seemed  annoyed  at  some- 
thing. 

lie  could  not  explain  to  Charles  his  motive  in  going  to 
see  Arthur,  as,  now  that  the  first  burst  of  indignation  was 
over,  he  felt  half  ashamed  of  it  himself.  On  the  afternoon 
of  the  day  of  the  party  he  had  been  at  Grassy  Spring,  help- 
ing Mrs.  St.  Claire  with  her  flowers,  and  after  his  work  was 
done  he  had  gone  with  Dick  into  the  billiard -room,  where 
they  found  Tom  Tracy  and  his  friend,  young  Raymond. 
They  had  come  over  for  a  game,  and  the  four  boys  were 
soon  busily  engaged  in  the  contest.  Harold,  who  had 
often  played  with  Dick,  and  was  something  of  an  expert, 
proved  himself  the  most  skillful  of  them  all,  greatly  to  the 
chagrin  of  Tom,  who  had  not  recognized  him  even  by  a 
nod.  Dick,  on  the  contrary,  had  introduced  him  to  Fred 
Raymond  with  as  much  ceremony  as  if  he  had  been  the 


AIRS.     TRACTS    DIAMONDS.  181 

Governor's  son,  instead  of  the  boy  who  sometimes  worked 
in  his  mother's  flower  garden.  And  the  Kentuckian  had 
taken  him  by  the  hand  and  greeted  him  cordially,  with  a 
familiar : 

"  Uow  d'ye,  Hastings  ?  Glad  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance." 

There  was  nothing  snobbish  about  Fred  Eaymond, 
whose  every  instinct  was  gentlemanly  and  kind,  and  Harold 
felt  at  ease  with  him  at  once,  and  all  through  the  game 
appeared  at  his  best,  and  quite  as  well  bred  as  either  of  his 
companions. 

When  the  play  was  over  Dick  excused  himself  a 
moment,  as  he  wished  to  speak  with  his  father,  who  was 
about  driving  to  town.  As  he  staid  away  longer  than  he 
had  intended  doing,  Tom  grew  restless  and  angry,  too,  that 
Fred  should  treat  Harold  Hastings  as  an  equal,  for  the  two 
had  at  once  entered  into  conversation,  comparing  notes 
with  regard  to  their  standing  in  school,  and  discussing  the 
merits  of  Cicero  and  Virgil,  the  latter  of  which  Harold  had 
just  commenced. 

"  We  can't  wait  here  all  day  for  Dick,"  Tom  said. 
"Let  us  go  out  and  look  at  the  pictures." 

So  they  went  down  the  stairs  to  a  long  hall,  in  which 
many  pictures  were  hanging — some  family  portraits  and 
others  copies  of  the  old  masters  which  Mr.  St.  Claire  had 
brought  from  abroad.  Near  one  of  the  portraits  Fred 
lingered  a  long  time,  commenting  upon  its  beauty,  and  the 
resemblance  he  saw  in  it  to  little  Nina  St.  Claire,  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  and  whose  aunt  the  original  had 
been.  The  portrait  was  not  far  from  the  stairway  which 
led  to  the  billiard-room,  and  Harold,  who  had  remained 
behind,  and  was  listlessly  knocking  the  balls,  could  not 
help  hearing  all  that  was  said  : 

"  By  the  way,  who  is  that  Hastings  ?  I  don't  think  I 
have  seen  him  before  ;  he  is  a  right  clever  chap,"  Fred 
Raymond  said,  and  Tom  replied,  in  that  sneering,  con*- 
temptuons  tone  Avhich  Harold  knew  so  well,  and  which 
always  made  his  blood  boil  and  his  fingers  tingle  with  a 
desire  to  knock  the  speaker  down  : 

11  Oh,  that's  Hal  Hustings,  a  poor  boy,  who  does  chores 
for  us  and  the  St.  Claires.  His  grandmother  used  to  work 


182  MRS.     TRACTS    DIAMONDS. 

at  the  park  house,  and  so  Uncle  Arthur  pays  for  his  school- 
ing, and  Hal  allows  it,  which  I  think  right  small  in  him. 
I  wouldn't  be  a  charity  student,  anyway,  if  I  never  knew 
anything.  Besides  that,  what's  the  use  of  education  to 
chaps  like  him.  Better  stay  as  he  was  born.  I  don't  be- 
lieve iu.  educating  the  masses,  do  you?" 

Of  himself,  Tom  could  never  have  thought  of  all  this, 
but  he  had  heard  it  from  his  mother,  who  frequently  used 
the  expression  "not  to  elevate  the  masses,"  forgetting  that 
she  was  once  herself  a  part  of  the  mass  which  she  would 
not  have  elevated. 

Just  what  Fred  said  in  reply  Harold  did  not  hear. 
There  was  a  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  he  felt  as  if  cveiydrop 
of  blood  in  his  body  was  rushing  to  his  head  as  he  sat  down, 
smarting  cruelly  under  the  wound  he  had  received.  He 
had  more  than  once  been  taunted  with  his  poverty  and 
dependence  upon  Mr.  Tracy,  but  the  taunts  had  never  hurt 
him  so  before,  and  he  could  have  cried  out  in  his  pain  as 
he  thought  of  Tom's  words,  and  knew  that  in  himself  there 
was  the  making  of  a  far  nobler  manhood  than  Tom  Tracy 
would  ever  know. 

Was  poverty,  which  one  could  not  help,  so  terrible  a 
disgrace,  an  insuperable  barrier  to  elevation,  and  was  it 
mean  and  small  in  him  to  accept  his  education  from  a  man 
on  whom  he  had  no  clciim?  Possibly  ;  and  if  so,  the  state 
of  things  should  not  continue.  He  would  go  to  Arthur 
Tracy,  thank  him  for  all  he  had  done,  and  tell  him  he 
could  receive  no  more  from  him  ;  that  if  he  had  an  educa- 
tion, he  must  get  it  himself  by  the  work  of  his  own  hands, 
and  thus  be  beholden  to  no  one. 

Full  of  this  resolution,  he  went  down  the  stairs  and  out 
into  the  open  air,  which  cooled  his  hot  head  a  little,  though 
it  was  still  throbbing  terribly  as  he  went  through  the  leafy 
woods  toward  home. 

In  the  lane  he  saw  Jerry  coming  toward  him,  with  her 
sun-bonnet  hanging  down  her  back.  The  moment  she  saw 
him  she  knew  something  was  the  matter,  and,  hastening 
her  steps  to  a  run,  asked  him  what  had  happened,  and  why 
he  looked  so  white  and  angry. 

Harold  was  sure  of  sympathy  from  Jerry,  and  he  told 
her  his  story,  which  roused  her  to  a  high  pitch  of  indigna- 
tion. 


MRS.     TRACTS    DIAMONDS.  183 

' '  The  miserable,  nasty,  sneaking  Tom  I"  she  said,  stop- 
ping short  and  emphasizing  each  adjective  with  a  stamp  of 
her  foot,  as  if  she  were  trampling  upon  the  offending  Tom. 
"  I  wish  I  had  heard  him.  I'd  have  scratched  his  eyes  out ; 
talking  of  you  as  if  you  were  dirt  !  I  hate  him,  and  I  told 
him  so  the  other  day,  and  spit  at  him  when  he  tried  to  kiss 
me!" 

"Kiss  you  !  Tom  Tracy  kiss  you  I"  Harold  exclaimed, 
forgetting  his  own  grief  in  this  insult  to  Jerry ;  for  it  seemed 
to  him  little  less  than  profanity  for  lips  like  Tom  Tracy's 
to  touch  his  little  Jerry, 

"  No  he  didn't,  hut  he  tried,  right  before  that  boy  from 
Kentucky  ;  but  I  wriggled  away  from  him,  and  bit  him,  too, 
and  he  called  me  a  cat,  and  said  he  guessed  I  wouldn't 
mind  if  you  or  Dick  St.  Claire  tried  to  kiss  me,  and  I 
should  n't ;  but  I'll  fight  Mm  and  Bill  Peterkin  every  time. 
I  wonder  why  all  the  boys  want  to  kiss  me  so  much  !" 

"  I  expect  it  is  because  you  have  just  the  sweetest 
mouth  in  the  world,"  Harold  said,  stooping  down  and  kiss- 
ing the  lips  which  seemed  made  for  that  use  alone. 

This  little  episode  had  helped  somewhat  to  quiet  Har- 
old's state  of  mind,  but  did  not  change  his  resolve  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Tracy,  and  tell  him  that  he  could  not  receive  any 
more  favors  from  his  hands.  He  would,  however,  wait  until 
the  morrow,  as  Jerry  bade  him  do. 

"You  will  worry  him  so  that  he  will  be  crazier  than  a 
loon  at  the  party,"  she  said,  and  so  Harold  waited,  but 
started  for  the  park  the  next  morning  as  soon  as  he  thought 
Mr.  Tracy  would  see  him. 

He  had  rung  at  the  door  of  the  rear  hall,  but  as  no  one 
heard  him  he  ventured  in,  as  he  had  sometimes  done  before, 
when  sent  for  Jerry  if  it  rained,  and  ascending  the  stairs  to 
the  upper  hall,  knocked  two  or  three  times  at  Arthur's 
door,  first  gently,  and  then  louder  as  there  came  no  response. 

"He  cannot  be  there,  and  I  must  come  again,"  he 
thought,  as  he  retraced  his  steps,  reaching  the  door  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  hall  just  as  Mrs.  Tracy  came  up  the  broad 
staircase,  on  her  way  to  her  room. 

As  that  day  wore  on,  and  the  next,  and  the  next,  Har- 
old br-gan  to  care  less  for  Tom's  insult,  and  to  think  that 
possibly  he  had  been  hasty  in  his  determination  to  decline 
Arthur's  assistance,  especially  as  he  meant  to  pay  back  every 


184  SEARCHING    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS. 

dollar  when  he  was  a  man.  He  would  at  all  events  wait  a 
little,  he  thought,  and  so  had  made  no  further  effort  to  see 
Mr.  Tracy,  when  Charles,  found  him,  and  told  him  he  was 
wanted  at  the  park  house. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SEARCHING   FOR   THE   DIAMONDS. 

HHHEY  went  directly  to  Mrs.  Tracy's  room,  where  they 
found  that  lady  in  a  much  higher  fever  of  excitement 
than  when  she  first  discovered  her  loss.  All  the  household 
had  assembled  in  the  hall  and  in  her  room,  except  Arthur, 
who  sat  in  his  library,  occasionally  stopping  to  listen  to  the 
sound  of  the  many  voices,  and  to  wonder  why  there  was  so 
much  noise. 

Tom  was  there  with  his  friend,  Fred  Eaymond,  anx- 
iously awaiting  the  arrival  of  Harold,  whose  face  wore  a 
look  of  wonder  and  perplexity  which  deepened  into  utter 
amazement  as  Mrs.  Tracy  angrily  demanded  of  him  what 
his  business  was  in  the  hall  on  Tuesday  morning  when  she 
saw  him  sneaking  through  the  door. 

"  Where  had  you  been,  and  did  you  see  my  diamonds  ? 
Somebody  has  stolen  them,"  she  said,  while  Harold  stared 
at  her  in  utter  astonishment. 

"  Somebody  stolen  your  diamonds  ?"  he  repeated,  with- 
out the  shadow  of  an  idea  that  she  could  in  any  way  con- 
nect him  with  a  theft  ;  nor  would  the  idea  have  come  to 
him  at  all,  if  Tom  had  not  said,  with  a  sneer  : 

"  Better  own  up,  Hal,  and  restore  the  property.  It  is 
your  easiest  way  out  of  it." 

Then  he  comprehended,  and  had  Tom  knocked  him 
senseless  the  effect  could  not  have  been  greater.  With  lips 
as  white  as  ashes,  and  fists  tightly  clenched,  he  stood,  shak- 
ing like  a  leaf,  unable  to  speak  until  his  eyes  fell  upon 
Jerry,  whose  face  was  a  study.  She  had  thrown  her  head 
forward  and  on  one  side,  and  was  looking  intently  at  Tom 
Tracy,  while  her  blue  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  her  whole  atti- 


SEARCHING    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS.  185 

tude  was  like  that  of  a  tiger  ready  to  pounce  upon  its  prey. 
And  when  Harold  said  faintly,  "ask  Jerry;  she  knows, " 
she  did  pounce  upon  Tom,  not  bodily,  but  with  her  tongue, 
pouring  out  her  words  so  rapidly,  and  mingling  with  them 
so  much  German  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  under- 
stand all  she  said. 

"  You  miserable,  good  for  nothing,  nasty  fellow,"  she 
began.  "Do  you  dare  accuse  Harold  of  stealing!  You, 
who  are  not  fit  to  tie  his  shoes  !  And  do  you  want  to  know 
why  he  was  here  that  morning  ?  I  can  tell  you  ;  but  no, 
I  won't  tell  you  !  I  won't  speak  to  you  !  I'll  never  speak 
to  you  again  ;  and  if  you  try  to  kiss  me  as  you  did  the 
other  day,  I'll — I'll  scratch  out  every  single  one  of  your 
eyes  !  You  twit  Harold  of  being  poor,  and  call  him  a 
charity  !  What  are  yon  but  a  charity  yourself,  I'd  like  to 
know.  Is  this  your  house  ?  No,  sir  !  It  is  Mr.  Arthur's. 
Everything  is  Mr.  Arthur's,  and  if  you  don't  quit  being  so 
mean  to  Harold,  I'll  tell  him  every  single  nasty  thing  I 
know  about  you.  Then  see  what  he  will  do  !" 

As  Jerry  warmed  with  her  subject,  every  look,  every 

Sesture,  and  every  tone  of  her  voice  was  like  Arthur's,  and 
'rank  watched  her  with  a  fascination  which  made  him  for- 
get everything  else,  until  she  turned  suddenly  to  him,  and 
in  her  own  peculiar  style  and  language  told  him  why  Harold 
had  come  to  the  park  house  that  morning  when  the  dia- 
monds were  missing. 

"  I  advised  him  to  come,"  she  said,  with  the  air  of  a 
grown  woman,  "and  I  said  I'd  stand  by  him,  and  I  will, 
forever  and  ever,  amen  I" 

The  words  dropped  from  her  lips  the  more  naturally 
perhaps,  because  she  had  used  them  once  before  with  refer- 
ence to  the  humiliated  boy,  to  whose  pale,  set  face  there 
came  a  smile  as  he  heard  them  again,  and  stretching  out 
his  hand  he  laid  it  on  Jerry's  head  with  a  caressing  motion 
which  told  plainer  than  words  could  have  done  of  his  affec- 
tion for  and  trust  in  her. 

What  more  Jerry  might  have  said  was  prevented  by  the 
appearance  of  a  new  actor  upon  the  scene  in  the  person  of 
Arthur  himself.  He  had  borne  the  noise  and  confusion  as 
long  as  he  could,  and  then  had  rung  for  Charles  to  inquire 
what  it  meant.  But  Charles  was  too  much  absorbed  with 
other  matters  to  heed  the  bell,  though  it  rang  three  times 


186  SEARCHING    FOB    THE    DIAMONDS. 

sharply  and  loudly.  At  last,  as  no  one  came,  and  the  bus- 
tle outside  grew  louder,  and  Jerry's  voice  was  distinctly 
heard,  excited  and  angry,  Arthur  started  to  see  for  himself 
what  had  happened. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Arthur,"  Jerry  cried,  as  she  caught  sight  of 
him  coming  down  the  hall,  "  I  was  just  going  after  you, 
to  come  and  turn  Tom  out  of  doors,  and  everybody  else  who 
eays  that  Harold  took  Mrs.  Tracy's  diamonds.  She  has 
lost  them,  and  Tom " 

But  here  she  was  interrupted  by  Tom  himself,  who, 
always  afraid  of  his  uncle,  and  now  more  afraid  than  ever 
because  of  the  peculiar  look  in  his  eyes,  stammered  out 
that  he  had  not  accused  Harold,  nor  any  one  ;  that  he 
only  knew  the  diamonds  were  gone  and  could  not  have 
gone  without  help. 

"  Do  you  mean  those  stones  your  mother  flashed  in 
my  eyes  last  night  ?  Serves  her  right  if  she  has  lost  them," 
Arthur  said,  without  manifesting  the  slightest  interest  or 
concern  in  the  matter. 

But  when  Jerry  began  her  story,  which  she  told  rapidly 
in  German,  he  became  excited  at  once,  and  his  manner 
was  that  of  a  maniac,  as  he  turned  fiercely  upon  Tom, 
denouncing  him  as  a  coward  and  a  liar,  and  threatening  to 
turn  him  from  the  house  if  he  dared  harbor  such  a  sus- 
picion against  Harold  Hastings. 

"  I'll  turn  you  all  into  the  street,"  he  continued,  "  if 
you  are  not  careful,  and  bring  Harold  and  Jerry  here  to 
live  ;  then  see  if  I  can  have  peace.  Diamonds,  indeed ! 
Gretchen's  diamonds,  too !  If  they  are  lost,  search  the 
house,  but  never  accuse  Harold  again." 

At  this  point  Arthur  wandered  off  into  German,  which 
no  one  present  could  understand  except  Jerry,  who  stood, 
holding  fast  to  his  arm,  her  face  flushed  and  triumphant 
at  Harold's  victory  and  Tom's  defeat ;  but  as  the  tirade  in 
German  went  on,  she  started  suddenly  forward,  and  with 
clasped  hands  and  staring  eyes  stood  confronting  Arthur 
until  he  ceased  speaking,  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  sig- 
nified that  he  was  through  and  his  audience  dismissed. 
Jerry,  however,  did  not  move,  but  stood  regarding  him 
with  a  frightened,  questioning  expression  on  her"  face, 
which  was  lost  upon  the  spectators,  who  were  too  much  inter- 


SEARCHING    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS.  187 

ested  in  the  all-absorbing  topic  to  notice  any  one  particu- 
larly. 

Tom  was  the  first  to  go  away,  and  his  example  was  fol- 
lowed by  all  the  servants  except  Charles,  who  succeeded  in 
getting  his  master  back  to  his  room  and  quieting  him 
somewhat,  though  he  kept  talking  to  himself  of  diamonds, 
and  Paris,  and  Gretchen,  who,  he  said,  should  not  be 
wronged. 

"  I  am  sorry  this  thing  has  happened.  I  have  no  idea 
that  you  know  anything  of  the  matter.  I  would  as  soon 
suspect  my  own  son,"  Frank  said  to  Harold,  as  he  was 
leaving  the  house. 

\\ith  this  grain  of  comfort,  the  boy  went  slowly  home, 
humiliated  and  cut  to  the  heart  with  the  indignity  put 
upon  him;  while  Jerry  walked  silently  at  his  side  until 
they  were  nearly  home,  when  she  said,  suddenly: 

"  I  b'lcve  I  know  where  the  diamonds  are."  It  was  a 
habit  of  Jerry's  to  know  something  about  everything,  and 
as  Harold  had  no  idea  that  she  could  know  anything  of 
the  diamonds,  he  scarcely  noticed  her  remark,  which 
recurred  to  him  years  after  when  the  diamonds  came  up  to 
confront  him  again. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  the  whole  town  to  know  of 
Mrs.  Tracy's  loss.  The  papers  were  full  of  it.  The  neigh- 
bors talked  of  it  constantly,  and  two  detectives  were 
employed  to  work  the  matter  up  and  discover  the  thief,  if 
possible.  A  thorough  search  was  also  made  at  the  park 
house.  Every  servant  was  examined  and  cross-examined, 
and  all  their  trunks  and  boxes  searched  ;  every  nook  and 
corner  and  room  was  gone  through  in  the  most  systematic 
order,  even  to  Arthur's  apartments.  This  last  was  merely 
•done  as  a  matter  of  form,  and  to  let  the  indignant  servants 
sec  that  no  partiality  was  shown  the  officers  explained  to 
Arthur,  who  at  first  refused  to  let  them  in,  but  who  finally 
opened  the  door  himself,  and  bade  them  go  where  they 
liked. 

Half  hidden  among  the  cushions  of  the  sofa  from 
which  Arthur  had  risen  when  he  let  the  officers  in,  and  to 
which  he  returned  again,  was  Jerry,  her  face  pale  to  her 
lips  and  her  eyes  like  the  eyes  of  some  hunted  animal, 
when  she  saw  the  policemen  cross  the  threshold. 

After  her  return  home  the  previous  day  she  had  been 


188  SEARCHING    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS. 

unusually  taciturn  and  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion relative  to  the  missing  diamonds,  but  just  before  going 
to  bed  she  said  to  Harold  : 

"  What  will  they  do  with  the  one  who  took  the  dia- 
monds, if  they  find  him  ?" 

"  Send  him  to  State's  prison/*  Harold  answered. 

"  And  what  do  they  do  to  them  in  State's  prison  ?" 
Jerry  continued. 

"  Cut  their  hair  off ;  make  them  eat  bread  and  water 
and  mush,  and  sleep  on  a  board,  and  work  awful  hard," 
was  Harold's  reply,  given  at  random  and  without  the  least 
suspicion  why  the  question  had  been  asked. 

Jerry  said  no  more,  but  the  next  morning  she  started 
for  the  park  house,  which  she  knew  was  to  be  searched, 
and  going  to  Mr.  Arthur's  room  looked  him  wistfully  in 
the  face  as  she  asked  in  a  whisper  : 

"Are  they  found  ?" 

"Found  !  What  found  ?"  he  said,  as  if  all  recollection 
of  the  missing  jewels  had  passed  entirely  from  his  mind. 

"  Mrs.  Tracy's  diamonds  which  you  gave  her,"  was 
Jerry's  answer. 

For  a  moment  Arthur  looked  perplexed  and  bewildered 
and  confused,  and  seemed  trying  to  recall  something  which 
would  not  come  at  his  bidding. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  he  said  at  last.  "I 
don't  seem  to  think  of  anything,  my  head  is  so  thick  with 
all  the  noise  there  was  here  yesterday  and  the  tumult  this 
morning.  Search-warrants,  Charles  says,  and  two  strange 
men  driving  up  so  early.  Who  are  they,  Jerry  ?" 

"Police  come  to  search  everybody  and  everything. 
Ain't  you  afraid?"  Jerry  said. 

"Afraid?  No;  why  should  I  be  afraid?  Why,  child, 
how  white  you  are,  and  what  makes  you  tremble  so  ?  You 
didn't  take  the  diamonds,"  was  Arthur's  response,  as  he 
drew  the  little  girl  clo..e  to  him  and  looked  into  her  pallid 
face. 

"  Mr.  Arthur,"  Jerry  began,  very  low,  as  if  afraid  of 
being  heard,  "  if  I  should  give  Maude  something  for  her 
own,  and  she  should  keep  it  a  good  while,  and  then  some 
day  I  should  take  it  from  her,  when  she  did  not  know  it, 
and  hide  it,  and  not  give  it  up,  would  that  be  stealing?" 

"Certainly.     Why  do  you  ask  ?" 


FOR    THE    DIAMONDS.  180 

Jerry  did  not  say  why  she  asked,  but  put  the  same 
question  to  him  she  had  put  to  Harold  : 

"If  they  find  the  one  who  took  the  diamonds  will  they 
send  him  to  State's  prison  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly.     They  ought  to." 

"  And  cut  off  his  hair  ?" 

She  was  threading  Arthur's  luxuriant  locks  caressingly, 
and  almost  pityingly,  with  her  fingers  as  she  asked  the  last 
question,  to  which  he  replied,  shortly  : 

"  Yes." 

"  And  make  him  eat  bread  and  water  and  mush?" 

"Yes  ;  I  believe  so." 

"  And  sleep  on  a  board  ?" 

"  Yes,  or  something  as  bad." 

"  And  make  him  work  awful  hard  until  his  hands  are 
blistered?" 

Now  she  had  in  hers  Arthur's  hands,  soft  and  white  as 
a  woman's,  and  seemed  to  be  calculating  how  much  hard 
work  it  would  take  to  blister  hands  like  these. 

"Yes,  work  till  his  hands  drop  off,"  Arthur  said. 

With  a  shudder,  she  continued  : 

"  I  could  not  bear  it;  could  you?" 

"  Bear  it?  No  ;  I  should  die  in  a  week.  Why,  what 
does  ail  you  ?  You  are  shaking  like  a  leaf.  What  are  you 
afraid  of?" 

"I  don't  know;  only  State's  prison  seems  so  terrible, 
and  they  are  looking  everywhere.  What  if  they  should 
come  in  here?" 

"Come  in  here?  Impossible,  unless  they  break  the 
door  down,"  Arthur  replied  ;  and  then  Jerry  said  to  him  : 

"  If  they  do,  suppose  you  lie  down  aud  let  me  cover 
you  with  the  afghan  and  cushions  ?" 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  lie  down  and  be  smothered  with 
cushion.-!,"  Arthur  returned,  puzzled,  and  wondering  at  the 
excitement  of  the  child,  who  nestled  close  to  his  side,  and 
held  fast  to  his  hand,  as  if  she  were  guarding  him,  or 
expected  him  to  guard  her,  while  the  examination  went  on 
outside,  and  the  frightened  and  angry  servants  submitted 
to  having  their  boxes  and  trunks  examined. 

At  last  footsteps  were  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  the 
sound  of  strange  voices,  mingled  with  that  of  Frank,  who 
was  protesting  against  his  brother's  rooms  being  entered. 


190  SEARCHING    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS. 

"  You  will  lose  every  servant  you  have  if  we  do  not  serve 
all  alike,"  was  the  answer. 

Then  Frank  knocked  at  his  brother's  door  and  asked 
admittance. 

"  We  must  do  it  to  pacify  the  servants,"  he  said,  as 
Arthur  refused,  bidding  him  go  about  his  business. 

After  a  little  further  expostulation  Arthur  arose,  and, 
unlocking  the  door,  bade  them  enter  and  look  as  long  as 
they  pleased  and  where  they  pleased. 

It  was  a  mere  matter  of  form,  for  not  a  drawer  or  box 
was  disturbed  ;  but  Jerry's  breath  came  in  gasps,  and  her 
eyes  were  like  saucers,  as  she  watched  the  men  moving 
from  place  to  place,  and  then  looked  timidly  at  Arthur  to 
see  how  he  was  taking  it.  He  took  it  very  coolly,  and 
when  it  was  over  and  the  men  were  about  to  leave,  he  bade 
them  come  again  as  often  as  they  liked  ;  ' '  they  would 
always  find  him  there  ready  to  receive  them,  but  the  dia- 
monds— nix." 

This  last  he  said  to  Jerry,  who,  the  moment  they  were 
alone  and  he  had  seated  himself  beside  her,  put  her  head 
on  his  arm  and  burst  into  a  hysterical  fit  of  crying. 

"  Why,  Cherry,  what  is  it  ?  Why  are  you  crying  so  ?" 
he  asked,  in  much  concern. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  sobbed  ;  "  only  I  was  so  scared 
all  the  time  they  were  in  the  room.  What  if  they  had 
found  them  !  What  if  they  should  think  that — that — I 
took  them,  and  should  send  me  to  prison,  and  cut  off  my 
hair,  and  make  me  eat  bread  and  water  and  mush,  which  I 
hate  !" 

Arthur  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  view 
to  comfort  her,  said,  laughingly  : 

"  They  would  not  send  you  to  prison,  for  I  would  go  in 
your  stead." 

"  Would  you  ?  Could  you  ?  I  mean,  could  somebody 
go  for  another  somebody,  if  they  wanted  to  ever  so  much  ?" 
Jerry  asked,  eagerly,  as  she  lifted  her  tear-stained  face  to 
Arthur's. 

Without  clearly  understanding  her  meaning,  and  with 
only  a  wish  to  quiet  her,  Arthur  answered,  at  random  : 

"  Certainly.  Have  you  never  heard  of  people  who  gave 
their  life  for  another's  ?  So,  why  not  be  a  substitute,  and 
go  to  prison,  if  necessary  ?" 


SEARCHING    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS.  191 

"  Yes/'  Jerry  answered,  with  a  long-drawn  breath,  and 
the  cloud  lifted  a  little  from  her  face. 

After  a  moment,  however,  she  asked,  abruptly  : 

"  Suppose  the  one  who  took  the  diamonds  will  not  give 
them  up,  and  somebody  else  knows  where  they  are,  ought 
that  somebody  else  tell  ?" 

"  Certainly,  or  be  an  accessory  to  the  crime/'  was 
Arthur's  reply. 

Jerry  did  not  at  all  know  what  an  accessory  was,  but  it 
had  an  awful  sound  to  her,  and  she  asked  : 

"  What  do  they  do  to  an  accessory  ?  Punish  her — him, 
I  moan — just  the  same  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  Arthur  said,  never  dreaming  of  the 
wild  fancy  which  had  taken  possession  of  her. 

That  one  could  go  to  prison  in  another's  stead,  and  that 
an  accessory  would  be  punished  equally  with  the  criminal, 
were  the  two  ideas  distinct  in  her  mind  when  she  at  last 
arose  to  go,  saying  to  Arthur,  as  she  stood  in  the  door  : 

"  You  are  sure  you  are  not  afraid  to  have  them  come 
here  again,  if  they  take  it  into  their  heads  to  do  so  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  they  can  search  my  rooms  every  day 
and  welcome,  if  they  like/'  was  Arthur's  reply. 

"  Well,  that  beats  me  !"  Jerry  said  aloud  to  herself,  with 
a  nod  for  every  word,  a^she  went  down  the  stairs  and 
started  for  home,  taking^ie  Tramp  House  on  her  way. 
"  I  guess  I'll  go  in  there  and  think  about  it,"  she  said,  and 
entering  the  deserted  building,  she  sat  down  urcon  the 
bench  and  began  to  wonder  if  she  could  do  it,  if  worst 
came  to  worst,  as  it  might. 

"  Yes,  I  could,  for  him,  and  111  never  tell;  I'll  be  that 
thing  he  said,  and  a  substitute,  too,  if  I  can,"  she  thought, 
"  though  I  guess  it  would  kill  me.  Oh,  I  hope  I  sha'n't 
have  to  do  it  !  I  mean  to  say  a  prayer  about  it,  anyway." 

And  kneeling  down  in  the  damp,  dark  room,  Jerry 
prayed  first,  that  it  might  never  be  found  out,  and  second, 
that  if  it  were  she  might  not  be  called  to  account  as  an 
accessory,  but  might  have  the  courage  to  be  the  substitute, 
and  stand  by  him  "  forever  and  ever,  amen  !" 

"  I  may  as  well  begin  to  practice,  and  see  if  I  can  bear 
it,"  she  thought,  as  she  walked  slowly  home,  where  she 
astonished  Mrs.  Crawford  by  asking  her  to  make  some 
mush  for  dinner. 


192  SEAROttlflG    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS. 

"  Mush  !  Why,  child,  I  thought  you  hated  it,"  Mrs. 
Crawford  exclaimed. 

"  I  did  hate  it,"  Jerry  replied,  "but  I  want  it  now 
real  bad.  Make  it  for  me,  please.  Harold  likes  it,  don't 
you,  Hally  ?" 

Harold  did  like  it  very  much  ;  and  so  the  mush  was 
made,  and  Jerry  forced  herself  to  swallow  it  in  great  gulps, 
and  made  up  her  mind  that  she  could  not  stand  that  any 
way.  She  preferred  bread  and  water.  So,  for  supper  she 
took  bread  and  water  and  nothing  else,  and  went  up  to 
bed  as  unhappy  and  nervous  as  a  healthy,  growing  child 
well  could  be. 

She  had  tried  the  mush,  and  the  bread  and  water,  and 
now  she  meant  to  try  the  shorn  head,  which  was  the  hard- 
est of  all,  for  she  had  a  pride  in  her  hair,  which  so  many 
had  told  her  was  beautiful. 

Standing  before  her  little  glass,  with  the  lamp  beside 
her,  she  looked  at  it  admiringly  for  a  while,  turning  her 
head  from  side  to  side  to  see  the  bright  ringlets  glisten  ; 
then,  with  an  unsteady  hand  she  severed,  one  by  one,  the 
shining  tresses,  on  which  her  tears  fell  like  rain  as  she 
gathered  them  in  a  paper  and  put  them  away,  wondering 
if  the  prison  shears  would  cut  closer  or  shorter,  and  won- 
dering if  it  would  make  any  difference  that  she  was  only  a 
substitute,  or  at  most  an  accessory. 

It  was  a  strange  idea  which  had  taken  possession  of  her, 
and  a  senseless  one,  but  it  was  terribly  real  to  her,  and  that 
little  shorn  head  represented  as  noble  and  complete  a  sacri- 
fice as  was  ever  made  by  older  and  wiser  people.  There 
was  no  hard  board  to  sleep  upon,  and  so  she  took  the  floor, 
with  a  pillow  under  her  head  and  a  blanket  over  her,  wonder- 
ing the  while  if  this  were  not  a  more  luxurious  couch  than 
convicts,  who  had  stolen  diamonds,  were  accustomed  to 
have. 

"Why,  Jerry,  what  have  you  done  ?"  and  "Oh,  Jerry, 
how  you  look!"  were  the  ejacnlatory  remarks  which  greeted 
her  next  morning,  when  she  went  down  to  her  breakfast  of 
bread  and  warer,  for  she  would  take  nothing  else. 

"Why  did  you  do  it  ?"  Mrs.  Crawford  asked,  a  little 
angry  and  a  good  deal  astonished  ;  but  Jerry  only  answered 
at  first  with  her  tears,  as  Harold  jeered  at  her  forlorn 
appearance  and  called  her  a  picked  chicken. 


SEARCHING-    EOR    THE   DIAMONDS.  193 

"Maude's  hair  is  short,  and  all  the  girls',  and  mine 
was  always  in  my  eyes  and  snarled  awfully,"  she  said  at 
last,  and  this  was  all  the  excuse  she  would  give  for  what 
she  had  done  :  while  for  her  persisting  in  abroad  and  water 
diet  she  would  give  no  reason  for  three  or  four  days.  Then 
she  said  to  Harold  : 

"  You  told  me  that  the  one  who  stole  the  diamonds 
would  have  to  eat  bread  and  water  and  have  his  head 
shaved,  and  I  am  trying  to  see  how  it  would  seem — am 
playing  that  I  am  the  man,  and  in  prison ;  but  I  find  it 
very  hard.  I  don't  believe  I  can  stand  it.  I  am  so  tired 
and  hungry,  and  the  blackberry  pie  we  had  for  dinner  did 
look  so  good  I" 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  head,  and  looked  so  white 
and  faint  that  Harold  was  alarmed,  and  took  her  at  once 
to  his  grandmother,  who,  scarcely  less  frightened  than 
himself,  made  her  lie  down,  and  brought  her  a  piece  of 
toast  and  a  cup  of  milk,  which  revived  her  a  little.  But 
the  strain  upon  her  nerves  for  the  last  few  days,  and  the 
fasting  on  bread  and  water  proved  too  much  for  the  child, 
who,  for  a  week  or  more  lay  up  in  her  little  room,  burning 
with  fever,  and  talking  at  intervals,  of  diamonds,  and 
State's  pr'son,  and  accessories,  and  substitutes. 

Every  day  Arthur  came  and  sat  for  an  hour  by  her  bed, 
and  held  her  hot  hands  in  his,  and  listened  to  her  talk, 
and  wondered  at  her  shorn  head,  which  he  did  not  like. 
As  he  always  talked  to  her  in  German,  while  she  answered 
in  the  same  tongue,  no  one  knew  what  they  said  to  each 
other,  though  Harold,  who  understood  a  few  German 
words,  knew  that  she  was  talking  of  the  diamonds,  and 
the  prison,  :;nd  the  substitute. 

"  I  shall  never  tell  !"  she  said  to  Arthur  :  "and  I  shall 
go  !  I  can  bear  it  better  than  you.  It  is  not  that  which 
makes  my  head  ache  so.  It's — oh,  Mr.  Arthur,  I  thought 
you  so  good,  and  I  am  so  sorry  about  the  diamonds — Mrs. 
Tracy  was  so  proud  of  them.  Can't  you  contrive  to  get 
them  back  to  her  ?  I  could,  if  you  would  let  me.  I  am 
thinking  all  the  time  how  to  do  it,  and  never  let  her  know, 
and  the  back  of  my  head  aches  so  when  I  think." 

Arthur  could  not  guess  what  she  meant,  except  that 
the  lost  diamonds  troubled  her,  and  that  she  wished  Mrs. 
Tracy  to  have  them.  Occasionally  his  brows  would  knit 


lP4  SEARCHING    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS. 

together,  and  he  seemed  trying  to  recall  something  which 
perplexed  him,  and  which  her  words  had  evidently  sugges- 
ted to  his  mind. 

"  Cherry/'  he  said  to  her  one  day  when  he  came  as 
usual,  and  her  first  eager  question  was,  "  Have  they  found 
them  ?"  "  Cherry,  try  and  understand  me.  Do  you  know 
who  took  the  diamonds  ?" 

Instantly  into  Jerry's  eyes  there  came  a  scared  look,  but 
she  answered,  unhesitatingly: 

"Yes,  don't  you  ?" 

"  No/'  was  the  prompt  reply  ;  "though  it  seems  to  me 
I  did  know,  but  there  has  been  so  much  talk  about  them, 
and  you  are  so  sick,  that  everything  has  gone  from  my 
head,  and  the  bees  are  stinging  me  frightfully.  Where  are 
the  diamonds  ?" 

But  by  this  time  Jerry  was  in  the  prison,  sleeping  on  a 
board  and  eating  bread  and  mush,  and  Arthur  failed  to  get 
any  satisfaction  from  her.  Indeed,  they  were  two  crazy  ones 
talking  together,  with  little  or  no  meaning  in  what  they 
said.  Only  this  Arthur  gathered — that  Jerry  would  be  happy 
if  Mrs.  Tracy  had  her  diamond's  again  and  did  not  know 
how  they  came  to  her.  When  this  dawned  upon  him  he 
laughed  aloud,  and  kissing  her  hot  cheek?,  said  to  her  : 

"  I  see ;  I  know,  and  I'll  do  it.  Wait  till  I  come 
again." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  he  left  Mrs. 
Crawford's  house  ;  there  was  a  train  which  passed  the  sta- 
tion at  half  past  ten,  bound  for  New  York,  and  without 
returning  to  the  park,  Arthur  took  the  train,  sending  word 
to  his  brother  not  to  expect  him  home  until  the  next  day, 
and  not  to  be  alarmed  on  his  account,  as  he  was  going  to 
New  York  and  would  take  care  of  himself, 

Why  he  had  gone  Frank  could  not  guess,  and  he  waited 
in  much  anxiety  for  his  return.  It  was  evening  when  he 
came  home  seeming  perfectly  composed  and  well,  but  giv- 
ing no  reason  for  his  sudden  journey  to  the  city.  His  first 
inquiry  was  for  Jerry,  and  his  second,  if  anything  had  been 
heard  of  the  diamonds.  On  being  answered"  in  the  negative, 
he  remarked : 

"  Those  rascally  detectives  are  bunglers,  and  often-times 
would  rather  let  the  culprit  escape  than  catch  him.  I 


FOR    THE    DIAMONDS.  193 

doubt  if  you  ever  see  the  jewels  again.  But  no  matter  ;  it 
will  all  come  right.  Tell  your  wife  not  to  fret.'' 

The  next  morning  when  Mrs.  Tracy  went  to  her  room 
after  breakfast  she  was  astonished  to  find  upon  her  dress- 
ing bureau  a  velvet  box  with  Tiffany's  name  upon  it,  and 
inside  an  exquisite  set  of  diamonds  ;  not  as  fine  as  those  she 
had  lost,  or  quite  as  large,  but  white,  and  clear,  and  spark- 
ling as  she  took  them  in  her  hand  with  a  cry  of  delight, 
and  ran  to  her  husband.  Both  knew  from  whom  they 
came,  and  both  went  at  once  to  Arthur,  who,  to  his  sister- 
in-law's  profuse  expressions  of  gratitude,  replied  indiffer- 
ently : 

"  Don't  bother  me  with  thanks ;  it  worries  me.  I 
bought  them  to  please  the  little  girl,  who  talks  about  them 
all  the  time.  She  will  get  well  now.  I  am  going  to  tell 
her." 

Jerry  was  better  and  perfectly  sane,  and  when  she 
a\voke  that  morning  her  first  rational  question  had  been 
for  Arthur,  and  her  second  for  the  diamonds;  were  they 
found,  and  if  not,  were  they  still  looking  for  them. 

"No,  they  have  not  found  them,"  Harold  had  said, 
"and  the  officers  are  still  hunting  for  the  thief,  while  the 
papers  are  full  of  the  reward  offered  to  any  one  who  will 
return  them.  Five  hundred  dollars  now,  for  Mr.  Arthur 
has  added  two  hundred  to  the  first  sum.  He  has  quite 
waked  up  to  the  matter.  You  know  he  seemed  very  indif- 
ferent at  first." 

••  Mr.  Arthur  offered  two  hundred  more  !"  Jerry 
exclaimed.  "  Well,  that  beats  me  !  He  must  be  crazy." 

"  Of  course  he  is.  He  don't  know  what  he  does  or  says 
half  the  time,  and  especially  since  you  have  been  sick," 
Harold  said. 

"  Sick  !"  Jerry  repeated,  quickly.  "  Have  I  been  sick, 
and  is  that  why  I  am  in  bed  so  late  ?  I  thought  you  had 
come  in  to  wake  me  up,  and  I  was  glad,  for  I  have  had 
horrid  dreams." 

Harold  told  her  how  long  she  had  been  sick. 

"  And  you've  been  crazy,  too,  as  a  loon,"  he  continued, 
"and  talked  the  queerest  things  about  State's  prison,  and 
hard  boards,  and  bread  and  water,  and  accessories,  and 
substitutes,  and  so  on.  Mr.  Arthur  was  here  every  day, 
and  sometimes  twice  a  day,  but  he  did  not  come  yesterday 


196  SEARCHING    FOE    TEE   DIAMONDS. 

at  all.  There,  hark!  I  do  believe  he  is  coming  now. 
Don't  you  know  who  is  said  to  be  near  when  you  are  talk- 
ing about  him  ?" 

And,  with  a  laugh,  Harold  left  the  room  just  as  Arthur 
entered  it. 

"  Well,  Cherry,"  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Crawford  tells  me  the 
bees  are  out  of  your  head  this  morning,  and  I  am  glad.  I 
have  some  good  news  for  you.  Mrs.  Tracy  has  some  dia- 
monds, and  is  the  happiest  woman  in  town." 

Jerry  had  not  noticed  his  exact  words,  and  only  under- 
stood that  Mrs.  Tracy  had  found  her  diamonds. 

"Oh  Mr.  Arthur,  I  am  so  glad  !"  she  cried  ;  and  spring- 
ing up  in  bed,  she  threw  both  arms  around  his  neck  and 
held  him  fast,  while  she  sobbed  hysterically. 

"  There,  there,  child  !  Cherry,  let  go.  You  throttle  me. 
You  are  pulling  my  neck-tie  all  askew,  and  my  head  spins 
like  a  top,"  Arthur  said,  as  he  unclasped  the  clinging  arms 
and  put  the  little  girl  back  upon  her  pillow,  where  she  lay 
for  a  moment,  pale  and  exhausted,  with  the  light  of  a  great 
joy  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"  Did  she  know  where  they  came  from  ?  How  did  you 
manage  it?  Are  you  sure  she  did  not  suspect?"  she 
asked. 

"I  put  them  on  her  dressing-bureau  while  she  was  at 
breakfast,"  he  replied,  "and  when  she  came  up  there  they 
were — large  solitaire  ear-rings  and  a  bar  with  five  stones, 
not  quite  as  large  or  as  fine  as  the  ones  she  lost,  but  the 
best  I  could  find  at  Tiffany's.  Why,  Jerry,  what  is  the 
matter  ?  You  do  not  look  glad  a  bit.  I  thought  you  wanted 
me  to  give  them  to  her  surreptitiously,  and  I  did/''  he  added, 
as  the  expression  of  Jerry's  face  changed  to  one  of  dismay 
and  disappointment. 

" I  did — I  do,"  she  said  ;  "but  I  meant  her  very  own— 
the  ones  you  gave  her." 

For  a  moment  Arthur  sat  looking  at  her  with  a  per- 
plexed and  troubled  expression,  as  if  wondering  what  she 
could  mean,  and  why  he  had  so  utterly  failed  to  please  her ; 
then  he  said,  slowly  : 

"  The  ones  I  gave  her  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  You 
make  my  head  swim  trying  to  remember,  and  the  bumble- 
bees are  black-faced,  instead  of  white,  and  stinging  me 
dreadfully.  I  wish  you  would  say  nothing  more  of  the  dia- 


SEARCHING    FOR    THE    DIAMONDS.  197 

monds.     It  worries  mo,  and  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a 
nightmare,  and  I  know  nothing  of  them." 

Raising  herself  on  her  elbow  and  pointing  her  finger 
toward  him  in  a  half  beseeching,  half  threatening  way, 
Jerry  said  : 

"As  true  as  you  live  and  breathe,  and  hope  not  to  be 
hung  and  choked  to  death,  don't  you  know  where  they 
are  ?" 

This  was  the  oath  which  Jerry's  companions  were  in  the 
habit  of  administering  to  each  other  in  matters  of  doubt, 
and  she  now  put  it  to  Arthur  as  the  strongest  she  knew. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  answered,  with  a  little  irritation  in 
his  tone.  "  What  ails  you  Cherry  ?  Are  you  crazy,  like 
myself  ?  Struggle  against  it.  Don't  let  the  bees  get  into 
your  brain  and  swarm  and  buzz  until  you  forget  every- 
thing which  you  ought  to  remember;  and  do  things  you 
ought  not  to  do.  It  is  terrible  to  be  crazy  and  half  con- 
scious of  it  all  the  time — conscious  that  no  one  believes 
what  you  say  or  holds  you  responsible  for  what  you  do." 

'" ;  Don't  they  ?"  Jerry  asked,  eagerly,  for  she  knew  the 
meaning  of  the  word  "responsible.'  "If  a  crazy  man  or 
woman  took  the  diamonds,  and  then  forgot,  and  did  not 
tell,  and  it  was  ever  found  out,  wouldn't  they  be  pun- 
ished ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  was  the  re-assuring  reply.  "Don't 
you  know  how  many  murders  are  committed  and  the  mur- 
derer is  not  hung,  because  they  say  he  is  crazy  ?" 

In  a  moment  the  cloud  lifted  from  Jerry's  face,  which 
grew  so  bright  that  Arthur  noticed  the  change,  and  said  to 
her  : 

"You  are  better  now,  I  see,  and  I  must  go  before  I 
undo  it  all.  Good-by,  and  never  say  diamonds  to  me 
again ;  it  gets  me  all  in  a — in  a — well,  a  French  pickle — 
mixed,  you  know." 

lie  kissed  her,  and,  promising  to  take  her  for  a  drive 
as  soon  as  she  was  able,  went  out  and  left  her  alone,  won- 
dering why  it  was  that  his  having  given  the  diamonds  to 
his  sister-in-law  had  failed  in  its  effect  upon  her,  and  upon 
himself,  too. 

For  a  ftng  time  after  he  was  gone  Jerry  lay  thinking 
with  her  eyes  closed,  so  that  if  Harold  or  her  grandmother 
came  in  they  would  think  her  asleep.  Mr.  Arthur  was 


198  ARTHUR'S    LETTER. 

certainly  crazy  at  times — very  crazy.  She  could  swear  to 
that,  and  so  could  many  others.  And  if  a  crazy  man  was 
not  responsible  for  his  acts,  then  he  was  not,  and  the  law 
would  not  touch  him ;  but  with  regard  to  the  accessory, 
she  was  not  sure.  If  that  individual  were  not  crazy,  why, 
then  he  or  she  might  be  punished  ;  and  as  the  taste  she 
had  had  of  bread  and  water,  and  hard  boards  in  the  shape 
of  the  floor,  was  not  very  satisfactory,  and  as  Mrs.  Tracy  had 
other  diamonds  in  the  place  of  the  lost  ones,  she  finally 
determined  to  keep  her  own  counsel  and  never  tell  what 
she  had  heard  Arthur  say  that  morning  when  the  theft 
was  discovered  and  he  had  talked  so  fast  in  German  to  her 
and  to  himself.  If  she  had  known  just  where  the  dia- 
monds were  she  might  have  managed  to  return  them  to 
their  owner.  But  she  did  not,  and  her  better  course  was 
to  keep  quiet,  hoping  that  in  time  Mr.  Arthur  himself 
would  remember  and  make  restitution  ;  for  that  he  had  for- 
gotten and  was  sincere  in  saying  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
them,  .she  was  certain,  and  her  faith  in  him,  which  for  a 
little  time  had  been  shaken,  was  restored. 

With  this  load  lifted  from  her  mind  Jerry's  recovery 
was  rapid,  and  when  the  autumnal  suns  were  just  begin- 
ning to  tinge  the  woodbine  on  the  Tramp  House  and  the 
maples  in  the  park  woods  with  scarlet  she  took  her  accus- 
tomed seat  in  Arthur's  room  and  commenced  her  lessons 
again  with  Maude,  who  had  missed  her  sadly,  and  who 
Avould  have  gone  to  see  her  every  day  during  her  sickness, 
if  her  mother  had  permitted  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ARTHUR'S  LETTER. 

TWO  weeks  had  passed  since  Jerry's  return  to  her  lessons, 
and  people  had  ceased  to  talk  of  the  missing  dia- 
monds, although  the  offered  reward  of  $,500  was  still  in  the 
weekly  papers,  and  a  detective  still  had  the  matter  in 
charge,  without,  however,  achieving  the  slightest  success. 
No  one  had  been  suspected,,  and  the  thief,  whoever  he  was, 


ARTHURS    LETTER.  199 

must  have  been  an  expert,  and  managed  the  affair  with  the 
most  consummate  skill.  Now  that  she  had  another  set, 
Mrs.  Tracy  was  content,  and  peace  and  quiet  reigned  in 
the  household,  except  so  far  as  Arthur  was  concerned.  He 
was  restless  and  nervous,  and  given  to  fits  of  abstraction, 
which  sometimes  made  him  forget  the  two  little  girls,  one 
of  whom  watched  him  narrowly  ;  and  once,  when  they  were 
alone  and  he  seemed  unusually  absorbed  in  thought,  she 
asked  him  if  he  were  trying  to  think  of  something. 

"  Yes/'  he  said,  looking  up  quickly  and  eagerly;  "that 
is  it.  I  am  trying  to  remember  something  which,  it  seems 
to  me,  I  ought  to  remember  ;  but  I  cannot,  and  the  more  I 
try,  the  farther  it  gets  from  me.  Do  you  know  what  it 
is'?" 

Jerry  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  she  asked: 

"  Is  it  the  diamonds  ?" 

"Diamonds!  No.  -What  diamonds  ?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  never  to  say  diamonds  to  me  again  ?  I  am  tired  of  it," 
he  said  ;  and  in  his  eyes  there  was  a  gleam  which  Jerry  had 
lie vi' r  seen  there  before  whon  they  rested  upon  her.  It 
made  her  afraid,  and  she  answered,  meekly  : 

"  Then  I  cannot  help  you  to  remember." 

"Of  course  not.  No  one  can,"  Arthur  replied,  in  a 
softened  tone.  "  It  is  something  long  ago,  and  has  to  do 
with  Gretchcn." 

Then  suddenly  brightening,  as  if  that  name  had  been 
the  key  to  unlock  his  misty  brain,  he  added: 

"  1  have  it ;  I  know ;  it  has  come  to  me  at  last  ! 
Gretchen  always  sets  me  right.  I  wrote  her  a  letter  long 
ago — a  year,  it  seems  to  me — and  it  has  never  been  posted. 
Strange  that  I  should  forget  that ;  but  something  came  up 
—I  can't  tell  what — and  drove  it  from  my  mind." 

As  he  talked  he  was  opening  and  looking  in  the  drawer 
which  Jerry  had  never  seen  but  once  before,  and  that,  when 
he  took  from  it  the  letter  in  German,  a  paragraph  of  which 
he  had  bidden  her  read. 

"  Here  it  is  !"  he  said,  joyfully,  as  he  took  out  a  sealed 
envelope  and  held  it  up  to  Jerry.  "  This  is  the  letter 
whicli  you  must  post  at  once." 

He  gave  her  the  letter,  whicli  she  took  with  a  beating 
heart  and  a  sense  of  shame  and  regret  as  she  remembered 
her  pledge  to  Mr.  Frank  Tracy.  She  had  promised  to 


200  ARTHUE'S    LETTER. 

take  him  any  letter  which  Mr.  Arthur  might  intrust  to 
her  care,  and  if  she  took  this  one  she  must  keep  her 
word. 

c '  Oh,  I  can't  do  it — I  can't  I  It  would  be  mean  to  Mr. 
Arthur/'  she  thought ;  and  returning  him  the  letter,  she 
said  :  "  Please  post  it  yourself  ;  then  you  will  be  sure,  and 
I  might  lose  it,  or  forget.  I  am  careless  sometimes.  Don't 
ask  me  to  take  it." 

She  was  pleading  with  all  her  might ;  but  Arthur  paid 
no  heed,  and  only  laughed  at  her  fears. 

"  I  know  you  will  not  forget,  and  I'd  rather  trust  you 
than  Charles.  Surely,  you  will  not  refuse  to  do  so  small  a 
favor  for  me  ?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  at  last,  as  she  put  the  letter  in  her 
pocket,  with  the  thought  that  she  would  show  it  to  Mr. 
Frank  as  she  had  promised  but  would  not  let  him  keep  it. 

She  found  him  in  the  room,  where  the  dead  woman 
had  lain  in  her  coffin,  and  where  he  often  sat  alone  think- 
ing of  the  day  when  the  inquest  was  held,  and  when  he 
took  his  first  step  in  the  downward  road,  which  had  lead 
him  so  far  that  now  it  seemed  impossible  to  turn  back. 

"  If  I  had  never  secreted  the  photograph,  or  the  book 
with  the  handwriting,  everything  would  have  been  so  dif- 
ferent, and  I  should  have  been  free,"  he  was  thinking, 
when  Jerry  knocked  timidly  at  the  door,  rousing  him  from 
his  reverie,  and  making  him  start  with  a  nameless  fear 
which  was  always  haunting  him. 

"Oh,  Jerry,  it  is  you,  he  said,  as  the  little  girl  crossed 
the  threshold,  and  shutting  the  door,  stood  with  her  back 
against  it,  and  her  hands  behind  her.  "  What  is  it  ?"  he 
asked,  as  he  saw  her  hesitating. 

With  a  quick,  jerky  movement  of  the  head,  which  set  in 
motion  the  little  rings  of  hair,  now  growing  so  fast,  and 
brought  his  brother  to  his  mind,  Jerry  replied  : 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Arthur  has  written  the 
letter." 

11  What  letter  ?"  Frank  asked,  for  the  moment  forget- 
ting the  conversation  he  had  held  with  the  child  in  the 
Tramp  House. 

"  The  one  I  promised  to  bring  you — the  one  to  Ger- 
many," was  Jerry's  answer, 


ARTHUR'S    LETTER.  201 

And  then  Frank  remembered  what,  in  the  excitement 
of  the  diamond  theft,  had  passed  from  his  mind. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  ;  give  it  to  me,"  he  said,  advancing 
rapidly  toward  her,  and  putting  out  his  hand.  "  When, 
did  he  write  it?  Let  me  see  it,  please." 

Rather  reluctantly  Jerry  handed  him  the  bulky  letter, 
the  direction  of  which  covered  nearly  the  whole  of  one  side 
of  the  envelope. 

Very  nervously  Frank  scanned  the  address,  which 
might  as  well  have  been  in  the  Hindoo  language  for  any 
idea  it  conveyed  to  him. 

"  To  whom  is  it  directed  ?  I  cannot  read  German,"  he 
said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Jerry  replied.  "I  have  not  looked  at 
it,  and  would  rather  not." 

"Why,  what  a  little  prude  you  are;"  and  Frank 
laughed,  uneasily.  "  What  possible  harm  is  there  in  read- 
ing an  address  ?  The  postmaster  has  to  do  it,  and  any  one 
who  took  it  to  the  office  would  do  it  if  he  could." 

This  sounded  reasonable  enough,  and  standing  beside 
him,  Jerry  read  the  address  in  German  first,  then,  as  he 
said  to  her  :  "  1  don't  understand  that  lingo,  put  it  into 
English,"  she  read  again  : 

"  To  Marguerite  Heinrich,  if  living,  and  if  dead  to  any 
of  her  friends  ;  or,  to  the  Postmaster  at  Wiesbaden,  Ger- 
many. If  not  delivered  within  two  months,  return  to 
Arthur  Tracy,  Tracy  Park,  Shannondale,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A." 

"Marguerite — Marguerite  Heinrich  !"  Frank  repeated. 
"  That  is  not  Gretcheu.  The  letter  is  not  to  her." 

"  I  guess  it  is,"  Jerry  replied.  "  He  told  me  once  that 
Gretchen  was  a  pet  name  for  Marguerite." 

"Yes,"  Frank  returned,  with  a  sigh  of  disappointment, 
while  to  himself  he  said  "  It  is  not  Marguerite  Tracy  and 
that  makes  me  less  a  scoundrel  than  I  should  otherwise 
have  been."  Then  turning  to  Jerry,  as  he  put  the  letter  in 
his  pocket,  he  said,  "  thank  you  for  bringing  this  to  me. 
I  had  forgotten  all  about  it." 

"  Mr.   Tracy,  you  mustn't  keep  the  letter.     It  is  not 

yours — No  harm  will  be  done  if  it  goes.     Mr.  Arthur  will 

never  let   Maude   be  wronged.     Give  it  to  me,    please." 

Jerry  cried  in  a  tone  and  manner  she  might  have  borrowed 

8* 


202  ABTBURB    LETTER. 

from  Artliur  himself,  it  was  so  like  him  when  on  his  dig- 
nity. 

And  Frank  felt  it,  and  knew  that  he  had  more  than  a 
child  to  deal  with,  and  must  use  duplicity  if  he  would  suc- 
ceed. So  he  said  to  her  quietly  and  naturally  : 

"  Why,  how  excited  you  are  !  Do  you  think  I  intend  to 
keep  the  letter  ?  It  is  as  safe  with  me  as  with  you.  It  is 
true  that  when  I  talked  with  you  in  the  Tramp  House  I 
thought  it  must  not  be  sent,  but  I  have  changed  my  mind, 
and  do  not  care.  I  am  going  to  the  office,  and  will  take  it 
myself.  John  is  saddling  my  horse  now,  and  if  I  hurry  I 
shall  be  in  time  for  the  Western  mail.  Good-by,  and  do 
not  look  so  worried.  Do  you  take  me  for  a  villain  ?" 

He  was  leaving  the  room  as  he  talked,  and  before  he 
had  finished  he  was  in  the  hall  and  near  the  outer  door, 
leaving  Jerry  stupefied,  and  perplexed,  and  only  half 
re-assured. 

"If  I  had  not  sold  myself  to  Satan  before,  I  have  now, 
for  sure  ;  and  still  I  did  not  actually  tell  her  that  I  would 
post  it,  though  it  amounted  to  that/'  Frank  thought,  as 
he  galloped  through  the  park  toward  the  highway  which 
led  to  the  town. 

Once  he  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket  and  examined 
it  again,  wishing  that  lie  knew  its  contents. 

"  If  I  could  read  German,  I  believe  I  am  bad  enough 
to  open  it ;  but  I  can't,  and  I  dare  not  take  it  to  any  one 
who  can/'  he  said,  as  he  put  it  again  in  his  pocket,  half 
resolving  to  post  it  and  take  the  chances  of  its  ever  reach- 
ing Gretchen's  friends,  or  any  one  who  had  known  her. 
"  I'll  see  how  I  feel  when  I  get  inside,"  he  thought,  as  he 
dismounted  from  his  horse  before  the  door  of  the  post- 
office. 

The  mail  was  just  in,  and  the  little  room  was  full  of 
people  waiting  for  it  to  be  distributed  ;  and  Frank  waited 
with  them,  leaning  against  the  wall,  with  his  head  bent 
down,  and  beating  his  boot  with  his  riding-whip. 

"  I  must  decide  soon,"  he  thought,  when  a  voice  not 
far  from  him  caught  his  ear,  and  glancing  from  under  his 
hat,  he  saw  Peterkin  coming  in,  portly  and  pompous,  and 
with  him  a  dapper  little  man,  who,  in  the  days  of  tho 
'Liza  Ann,  had  been  a  driver  for  the  boat,  but  who  now, 
like  his  former  employer,  was  a  millionaire,  and  wore  a 


ARTHUR'S    LETTER.  203 

thousand-dollar  diamond  ring.  To  him  Peterkin  was  say- 
ing : 

"  There,  that's  him — that's  Frank  Tracy,  the  biggest 
swell  in  town — lives  in  that  handsome  place  I  was  telling 
you  about." 

Strange  that  words  like  these  from  a  man  like  old 
Pelerkin  should  have  inflated  Frank's  pride  ;  but  he  was 
weak  in  many  points,  and  though  he  detested  Peterkin,  it 
gratified  him  to  be  pointed  out  to  strangers  as  a  swell  who 
lived  in  a  fine  house,  and  with  the  puff  of  vanity  came  the 
reflection  that,  as  Frank  Tracy  of  some  other  place  than 
Tracy  Park,  and  a  poor  man,  he  would  not  be  one  whom 
strangers  cared  to  see,  and  Jerry's  chance  was  lost  again. 

"  Here  is  your  mail  Mr.  Tracy,"  the  postmistress  said  ; 
and  stepping  forward,  Frank  took  his  letters  from  her,  just 
as  Peterkin  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and,  with  a 
familiarity  which  made  Frank  want  to  knock  him  down, 
called  out  : 

"  Hallo,  Tracy  !  Just  the  feller  I  wanted  to  see.  Let 
me  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Bijah  Jones,  from  Pennsylvany  ; 
use  to  drive  bosses  for  me  in  the  days  I  ain't  ashamed  of, 
by  a  long  shot.  He's  bought  him  a  place  out  from  Phila- 
delphy,  and  wants  to  lay  it  out  a  la — a  la — dumbed  if  I 
know  the  word,  but  like  them  old  chaps'  gardens  in 
Europe,  and  I  told  him  of  Tracy  Park,  which  beats  every- 
thing holler  in  this  part  of  the  country.  Will  you  let  us  go 
over  it  and  take  a  survey  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  go  where  you  like,"  Frank  said,  struggling 
to  reach  the  door ;  but  Peterkin  button-holed  him  and  held 
him  fast,  while  he  continued: 

"  I  say,  Tracy,  heard  anything  from  them  diamonds  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Didn't  hunt  in  the  right  quarter,"  Peterkin  contin- 
ued ;  "  leastwise  didn't  foller  it  up,  or  you'd  a  found  'em 
without  so  much  advertisin'." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Frank  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothin',"  Peterkin  replied ;  "  only  them  diamonds 
never  went  off  without  hands,  and  them  hands  ain't  a 
thousand  miles  from  the  park." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Frank  answered  mechanically,  more 
intent  upon  getting  away  than  upon  what  Peterkin  was 
saying. 


204  ARTHURS    LETTER. 

He  longed  to  be  in  the  open  air,  and  as  he  mounted  his 
horse,  he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  some  one  near  him: 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  I've  done  it  again,  and  sunk  myself 
still  lower.  You  are  bound  to  get  me  now  some  day,  unless 
I  have  a  death-bed  repentance  and  confess  everything. 
The  thief  was  forgiven  at  the  last  hour,  why  not  I  ?" 

Frank  could  have  sworn  that  he  heard  a  chuckle  in  his 
ear  as  he  rode  on,  fast  and  far,  until  his  horse  was  tired 
and  he  was  tired,  too.  Then  he  began  to  retrace  his  steps, 
so  slowly  that  it  was  dark  when  he  reached  the  village  and 
turned  down  the  road  which  led  by  the  gate  through  which 
the  woman  had  passed  to  her  death  on  the  night  of  the 
storm. 

As  he  drew  near  the  gate,  it  seemed  to  him  that  there 
was  something  on  the  post  nearest  the  fence  which  had  not 
been  there  in  the  afternoon  when  he  rode  by — something 
dark  and  peculiar  in  shape,  and  motionless  as  a  stone.  He 
was  not  by  nature  a  coward,  and  once  he  had  no  belief  in 
ghosts  or  supernatural  appearances,  but  now  he  did  not 
know  what  he  believed,  and  this  object,  whose  outline, 
seen  against  the  western  sky  where  a  dim  light  was  linger- 
ing, seemed  almost  like  that  of  a  human  form,  made  his 
heart  beat  faster  than  its  wont,  and  he  involuntarily 
checked  his  horse,  just  as  a  clear,  shrill  voice  called  out: 

"  Mr.  Tracy,  is  that  you  ?  I  have  waited  so  long,  and 
I'm  so  cold  sitting  here.  Did  you  post  the  letter  ?" 

It  was  Jerry,  who,  after  he  had  left  her  in  his  office, 
had  been  seized  with  an  indefinable  terror  lest  he  might 
not  post  the  letter  after  all.  It  seemed  wrong  to  doubt 
him,  and  she  did  not  really  think  that  she  did  doubt  him  ; 
still  she  should  feel  happier  if  she  knew,  and  after  supper 
was  over  she  started  along  the  grassy  road  until  she  reached 
the  gate.  Here  she  waited  a  long  time,  and  then,  as  Mr. 
Tracy  did  not  appear,  she  walked  up  and  down  the  lane 
until  the  sun  was  down  and  the  ground  began  to  feel  so 
damp  and  cold  that  she  finally  climbed  up  to  the  top  of 
the  gate-post,  which  was  very  broad,  and  where,  on  her 
way  to  town,  she  had  frequently  sat  for  a  while.  It  was 
very  cold  and  tiresome  waiting  there,  and  she  was  begin- 
ning to  get  impatient  and  to  wonder  if  it  could  be  possible 
that  he  had  gone  home  by  some  other  road,  when  she 


ARTHURS    LETTER.  205 

heard  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  and  felt  sure  he  was  com- 
ing. 

"  Why,  Jerry,  how  you  frightened  me  I"  Frank  said,  as 
he  reined  his  horse  close  up  to  her.  "  Jump  dowrt  and  get 
up  behind  me.  I  will  take  you  home." 

She  obeyed,  and  with  the  agility  of  a  little  cat  got 
down  from  the  gate-post  and  on  to  the  horse's  back,  put- 
ting both  arms  around  Frank's  waist  to  keep  herself  steady, 
for  the  big  horse  took  long  steps,  and  she  felt  a  little 
afraid. 

"  Did  you  post  the  letter  ?"  she  asked  again,  as  they 
left  the  gate  behind  them  and  struck  into  the  lane. 

To  lie  now  was  easy  enough,  and  Frank  replied  without 
hesitation  : 

"  Of  course.     Did  you  think  I  would  forget  it  ?" 

"  No,"  Jerry  answered.  "  I  knew  you  would  not.    I  only, 
wanted  to  be  sure,  because  he  trusted  it  to  me,  and  not  to 
have  sent  it  would  have  been  mean,  and  a  sneak,  and  a  lie, 
and  a  steal.     Don't  you  think  so  ?'' 

S lie  emphasized  the  ''steal,"  and  the  "lie,"  and  the 
"sneak,"  and  the  "mean,"  with  a  kick  which  made  the 
horse  jump  a  little  and  quicken  his  steps. 

••  Yes,"  Frank  assented ;  it  would  be  all  she  affirmed, 
and  more,  too,  and  the  man  who  could  do  such  a  thing  was 
wholly  unworthy  the  respect  of  any  one,  and  ought  to  be 
punished  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law. 

"  That's  so,"  Jerry  said,  with  another  emphatic  kick 
and  a  slight  tightening  of  her  arms  around  the  conscience- 
stricken  man,  who  wondered  if  he  should  ever  reach  the 
cottage  and  be  free  from  the  clasp  of  those  arms,  which 
seemed  to  him  like  bands  of  fire  burning  to  his  soul.  "  Fd 
iu.-vt.-r  speak  to  him  again,"  Jerry  continued  "and  Mr.  Ar- 
thur wouldn't  either.  He  is  so  right-up  and  hates  a  trick. 
I  don't  believe,  either,  that  any  harm  will  come  to  Maude 
from  that  letter,  as  you  said.  Is  there  does,  and  Mr. 
Arthur  can  fix  it,  he  will,  I  know,  for  I  shall  ask  him,  and 
he  once  told  me  he  would  do  anything  for  me,  because  I 
look  as  he  thinks  Gretchen  must  have  looked  when  she  was 
a  little  girl  like  me." 

They  had  reached  the  cottage  by  this  time,  where  they  , 
found  Harold  in  the  yard  looking  up  and  down  the  lane  for 
Jerry,  whose  protracted  absence  at  that  hour  had  caused 


20G  ARTHURS    LETTER. 

them  some  anxiety,  even  though  they  were  accustomed  to 
her  long  rambles  by  herself  and  frequent  absences  from, 
home. 

"  You  see,  I  have  picked  up  your  little  girl  and  brought 
her  home.  'Jump  down,  Jerry,  and  good-night  to  you," 
Mr.  Tracy  said  as  Harold  came  up  to  them. 

She  was  on  the  ground  in  an  instant,  and  he  was  soon 
galloping  to  ward  home,  saying  to  himself  : 

"  I  don't  believe  I  can  even  have  a  death-bed  repent- 
ance. I  have  told  too  many  lies  for  that,  and  worse  than 
all,  must  go  on  lying  to  the  end.  I  have  sold  my  soul,  for 
a  life  of  luxury,  which  after  all  is  very  pleasant,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  drew  near  the  house,  which  was  brilliantly 
lighted  up,  while  through  the  long  windows  of  the  dining- 
room  he  could  see  the  table,  with  its  silver  and  glass  and 
.flowers,  and  the  cheerful  blaze  upon  the  hearth.  There 
was  company  staying  in  the  house,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond 
from  Kentucky,  father  and  mother  to  Fred  ;  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  St.  Claire,  and  Grace  Atherton.,  and  Squire  Harring- 
ton had  been  invited  to  dinner  and  were  already  in  the  din- 
ing-room when  Frank  entered  it  after  a  hasty  toilet. 

He  had  been  out  in  the  country  and  ridden  further 
than  he  intended,  he  said,  by  way  of  apology,  as  he 
greeted  his  guests,  and  then  took  Mrs.  Raymond  in  to  din- 
ner. Dolly  was  very  fine  that  evening  in  claret  velvet, 
with  her  new  diamonds,  which  were  greatly  admired, 
Grace  Atherton  declaring  that  she  liked  them  quite  as  well 
as  the  stolen  ones,  whose  setting  was  Tuihev passee. 

"That  is  just  why  I  prized  them  so  much;  it  made  them 
look  like  heir-looms,  and  as  if  one  had  always  had  a  fam- 
ily," Dolly  said. 

Grace  Atherton  shrugged  her  still  plump  shoulders 
just  a  little,  and  thought  of  the  first  call  she  ever  made 
upon  Dolly,  when  the  lady  entertained  her  in  her  working- 
apron. 

Dolly  did  not  look  now  as  if  she  had  ever  seen  ft  work- 
ing-apron, and  was  very  bright  and  talkative,  and  enter- 
taining, and  all  the  more  so  because  of  her  husband's 
silence.  He  was  given  to  moods,  and  sometimes  aggrava- 
ted his  wife  to  desperation  when  he  left  all  the  conversa- 
tion to  her. 

"Do  talk,"  she  would  say  to  him  when  they  were 


ARTHURS    LETTER.  207 

alone.  "  Do  talk  to  people  and  not  sit  so  glum,  with  that 
great  wrinkle  between  your  eyes  as  if  you  were  mad  at 
something  ;  and  do  laugh,  too,  when  any  body  tells  any 
thing  worth  laughing  at,  and  not  leave  it  all  to  me.  Why, 
I  actually  giggle  at  times  until  I  feel  like  a  fool,  while  you 
never  smile  or  act  as  if  you  heard  a  word.  Look  at  me 
occasionally,  and  when  I  elevate  my  eye-brows — so — brace 
up  and  say  something,  if  it  isn't  so  cunning." 

This  elevating  of  the  eyebrows  and  bracing  up  were  mat- 
ters of  frequent  occurrence,  as  Frank  grew  more  and  more 
silent  and  abstracted,  and  now,  after  he  had  sat  through  a 
very  funny  story  told  by  Mr.  St.  Claire,  and  had  not  even 
smiled,  or  given  any  sign  that  he  heard  it,  he  suddenly 
caught  Dolly's  eye,  and  saw  that  both  eyebrows,  and  nose, 
and  chin  were  up  as  marks  of  unusual  disapprobation,  for 
how  could  she  guess  of  what  he  was  thinking  as  he  sut  with 
his  head  bent  down,  and  his  eyes  seemingly  half  shut. 
But  they  came  open  wide  enough,  and  his  head  was  high 
enough  when  he  saw  Dolly's  frown  ;  and  turning  to  Mrs. 
liuymond,  he  began  to  talk  rapidly  and  at  random.  She 
had  just  returned  from  Germany,  where  she  had  left  her 
daughter,  Marion,  in  school,  and  Frank  asked  her  of  the 
country,  and  if  she  had  visited  Wiesbaden,  and  had  there 
met  or  heard  of  any  one  by  the  name  of  Marguerite  Hein- 
rich. 

Mrs.  Raymond  had  spent  some  months  in  Wiesbaden, 
for  it  was  there  her  daughter  was  at  school,  and  she  was 
very  enthusiastic  in  her  praises  of  the  beautiful  town. 
But  she  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  Marguerite  Heinrich, 
or  of  any  one  by  the  name  of  Heinrich. 

''  Marguerite  Heinrich  ?"  Dolly  repeated.  "  Who  in  the 
world  is  she — and  where  did  you  know  her  ?" 

"  I  never  did  know  her.  I  have  only  heard  of  her," 
Frank  replied,  again  lapsing  into  a  silence  from  which  he 
did  not  rouse  again. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  letter  and  of  the  lies  he  had 
told  since  his  deception  began,  and  how  sure  it  was  that  he 
had  sinned  beyond  forgiveness.  When  he  was  a  boy  he 
had  oftened  listened,  with  the  blood  curdling  in  his  veins,  to 
a  ,-tory  hi.s  grandmother  told  with  sundry  embellishments, 
of  a  man  who  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil  in  consideration 
that  for  a  certain  number  of  years  he  was  to  have  every 


203  ARTHUR'S    LETTER. 

pleasure  the  world  could  give.  Ifc  had  been  very  pleasant 
listening  to  the  recital  of  the  fine  things  the  man  enjoyed, 
for  Satan  kept  his  promise  well ;  but  the  boy's  hair  had 
stood  on  end  as  the  story  neared  its  close,  and  he  heard 
how,  who n  the  probation  was  ended,  the  devil  came  for  his 
victim  down  the  wide-mouthed  chimney,  scattering  bricks 
and  lire-brands  over  the  floor,  as  he  carried  the  trembling 
soul  out  into  the  blackness  of  the  stormy  night. 

Strangely  enough  this  story  came  back  to  him  now, 
and  notwithstanding  the  horror  of  the  thing  he 
laughed  aloud  as  he  glanced  up  at  the  tall  oak  mantel, 
wondering  if  it  would  be  that  way  he  would  one  day  go 
with  bis  master,  and  seeing  in  fancy  Dolly's  dismay  when 
the  tea-cups,  and  saucers,  and  vases,  and  plaques,  came 
tumbling  to  the  floor  as  he  disappeared  from  sight  in  a  blue 
flame,  which  smelled  of  brimstone. 

It  was  a  loud,  unnatural  laugh,  but  fortunately  for  him 
it  came  just  as  Grace  Atherton  had  set  the  guests  in  a  roar 
with  what  she  was  saying  of  Peterkin's  struggle  to  enter 
society,  and  so  it  passed  unnoticed  by  most  of  them.  But 
that  night  in  the  privacy  of  his  room,  where  Dolly  deliv- 
ered most  of  her  lectures,  she  again  upbraided  him  with 
his  taciturnity,  telling  him  that  he  never  laughed  but  once, 
and  then  it  sounded  more  like  a  groan  than  a  laugh. 

"  You  have  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  this  time,  for  it 
was  a  groan,"  Frank  said,  as  he  plunged  into  bed  ;  and 
Dolly,  as  she  undressed  herself  deliberately,  and  put  her 
diamonds  carefully  away,  little  dreamed  what  was  passing 
in  the  mind  of  the  man,  who,  all  through  the  long  hours  of 
the  night,  lay  awake,  seldom  stirring  lest  he  should  disturb 
her,  but  repeating  over  and  over  to  himself  the  words  : 

"  Lost  forever  and  ever,  but  if  Maude  is  happy  I  can 
bear  it." 


TEN    TEARS    LATER.  209 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

TEN  TEAKS  LATER. 

TERRIE  spelled  her  name  with  an  ie  now,  instead 
^J  of  a  y.  She  was  twenty  years  old  ;  she  had  been 
a  student  at  Vassar  for  four  years,  together  with  Nina 
St.  Claire  and  Ann  Eliza  Peterkin,  and  was  with  them 
to  be  graduated  in  June.  In  her  childhood,  when  we 
knew  her  as  little  Jerry,  she  was  very  small,  but  at  the 
age  of  twelve  she  had  suddenly  shot  up  like  an  arrow,  and 
now,  at  twenty,  her  school  companions  called  her  the 
Princess,  she  was  so  tall  and  straight,  and  graceful  in 
every  movement,  with  that  sweet  graciousness  of  manner 
which  won  all  hearts  and  made  her  a  general  favorite. 
But  whether  she  spelled  her  name  with  an  ie  or  a  y,  and 
stood  five  feet  six  or  four  feet  five,  she  was  the  same  Jerry 
who  had  defended  Harold  against  Tom  Tracy,  and  been 
ready  to  go  to  prison,  if  neod  be,  for  Mr.  Arthur.  Frank, 
unselfish,  loving  and  true,  she  had  been  as  a  child,  and 
she  was  the  same  now  that  she  had  grown  to  womanhood. 
Nothing  could  spoil  her,  not  even  the  adulation  of  her 
friends  or  the  looking-glass  which  told  her  she  was  beauti- 
ful, just  as  Nina  St.  Claire  told  her  every  day. 

"Yes  ;  I  am  not  blind,  and  I  know  that  I  am  rather 
good-looking/'  she  said  to  Nina  one  morning  when  the 
latter  was  praising  her  hair  which  was  soft  and  curly  and 
retained  the  golden  color  seldom  seen  except  in  childhood. 
"  At  all  events,  I  am  not  plain  and  I  am  glad,  for,  as  a 
rule,  people  like  pretty  things  better  than  ugly  ones;  but 
I  am  not  an  idiot  to  think  that  looks  are  everything,  and 
1  don't  believe  I  am  very  vain.  I  used  to  be  though,  when 
a  child,  and  I  remember  admiring  the  shadow  of  my  curls 
in  the  sunlight,  but  Harold  gave  me  so  many  lectures  upon 
vanity  that  I  should  not  do  credit  to  his  teachings  were  I 
now  to  be  proud  of  what  I  did  not  do  myself." 

"But  Harold  thinks  you  are  beautiful,"  Nina  replied. 

"He  does  ?  I  did  not  know  that.  When  did  he  say 
go  ?"  Jerrie  asked,  with  kindling  eyes,  and,  a  quick, 


210  TEN    TEARS    LATER. 

ways  turn  of  her  head,  of  which  she  had  a  habit  when 
startled  by  some  sudden  emotion. 

"  He  said  so  last  vacation,  when  we  were  home,  and  I 
had  that  little  musicale,  and  you  played  and  sang  so 
divinely,  and  wore  that  dress  of  baby-blue  which  Mr. 
Arthur. gave  you,  with  the  blush  roses  in  your  belt."  Nina 
said.  "  I  was  so  proud  of  you,  and  so  was  mamma  and 
Mrs.  Atherton.  You  remember  there  were  some  New 
Yorkers  there  who  were  visiting  Mrs.  Grace,  and  I  was 
glad  for  them  to  know  that  we  had  some  talent  and  some 
beauty,  too,  in  the  country  ;  and  Harold  was  proud,  too. 
I  don't  think  he  took  his  eyes  off  you  from  the  time  you 
sat  down  to  the  piano  until  you  left  it,  and  when  I  said  to 
him,  '  Doesn't  she  sing  like  an  angel,  and  isn't  she  lovely  ?' 
he  replied  :  ( I  think  my  sister  Jerrie  has  the  loveliest  face 
I  ever  saw,  and  that  blue  dress  is  very  becoming  to  her.' ' 

"  Wasn't  that  rather  a  stiff  speech  to  make  about  his 
sister  9"  Jerrie  said,  with  a  slight  emphasis  upon  the  last 
word,  as  she  walked  away,  leaving  Nina  to  wonder  if  she 
were  displeased, 

Evidently  not,  for  a  few  minutes  later  she  heard  her 
whistling  softly  the  air  "  He«promised  to  buy  me  a  knot 
of  blue  ribbon  to  tie  up  my  bonny  brown  hair,"  and  could 
she  have  looked  into  Jerrie's  room  she  would  have  seen  her 
standing  before  the  mirror  examining  the  face  which  Har- 
old had  said  was  the  loveliest  he  had  ever  seen.  Others 
had  said  the  same.  Billy  Peterkin,  and  Tom  Tracy,  and 
Dick  St.  Claire,  and  even  Fred  Eaymond,  from  Kentucky, 
who  was  devoted  to  Nina.  But  Jerrie  cared  little  for  the 
compliments  of  either  Fred  or  Dick,  while  those  of  Tom 
she  scorned,  and  those  of  Billy  she  ridiculed.  One  word 
of  commendation  from  Harold  was  worth  more  to  her  than 
the  praises  of  the  whole  world  besides.  But  Harold  had 
always  been  chary  of  his  commendations,  and  was  rather 
more  given  to  reproof  than  praise,  which  did  not  alto- 
gether suit  the  young  lady. 

As  Jerrie  had  grown  older,  and  merged  from  childhood 
into  womanhood,  a  change  had  come  over  both  the  girl 
and  boy,  a  change  which  Jerrie  discovered  first,  awaking 
suddenly  one  day  to  find  that  the  brother  and  sister  delu- 
sion was  ended,  and  that  Harold  stood  to  her  in  an  entirely 
new  relation.  Just  when  the  change  commenced  she  coulil 


TEN    TEARS    LATER.  211 

not  tell.  She  only  knew  that  it  had  come,  and  that  she 
was  not  quite  so  happy  as  she  had  been  when  she  called 
Harold  her  brother  and  lavished  npon  him  all  the  fond- 
ness af  a  loving  sister. 

Though  quite  as  affectionate  and  unselfish  as  Jerrie, 
Harold  was  not  demonstrative,  while  a  natural  shyness  and 
depreciation  of  himself  made  him  afraid  to  tell  in  words 
just  what  or  how  niuch^he  did  feel.  He  would  rather 
show  it  by  acts  ;  and  never  was  brother  tenderer  or  kinder 
to  a  sister  than  he  was  to  Jerrie,  whose  changed  mood  he 
could  not  understand.  And  so  there  gradually  arose 
between  them  a  little  cloud,  which  both  felt  and  neither 
could  define.  Arthur  had  kept  his  promise  well  with 
regard  to  Jerrie,  who  had  passed  from  him  to  Vassar,  and 
he  would  have  kept  it  with  Harold,  if  the  latter  had  per- 
mitted it.  But  the  boy's  pride  and  independence  had 
asserted  themselves  at  last.  He  had  accepted  the  course 
at  Andover,  and  one  year  at  Harvard,  on  condition  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to  pay  Arthur  all  he  had  received  as 
soon  as  he  was  able  to  do  it.  As  he  entered  Harvard  in 
advance  he  was  a  junior  when  he  decided  to  care  for  him- 
self, and  after  that  he  struggled  on,  working  at  whatever 
he  could  find  during  the  summer  vacations,  and  teaching 
school  for  months  at  a  time,  so  that  his  college  course  was 
longer  than  usual.  But  it  was  over  at  la^t,  and  he  was 
graduated  with  the  highest  honors  of  his  class,  exciting 
thunders  of  applause  from  the  multitude  who  listened  to 
his  valedictory  and  some  of  whom  said  to  each  other: 

"  The  young  man  has  a  future  before  him.  Such  elo- 
quence as  that  could  move  the  world,  and  rouse  or  quiet 
the  wildest  mob  that  ever  surged  through  the  streets  of 
mad  Paris." 

Jerrie  was  there,  and  saw  and  heard.  And  when  Har- 
old's speech  was  over,  and  the  building  was  shaking  with 
applause,  and  flowers  were  falling  around  him  like  rain, 
she,  too,  stood  up  and  cheered  so  loudly  that  a  Boston 
lady,  who  sat  in  front  of  her,  and  who  thought  any  out- 
ward shew  of  feeling  vulgar  and  ill-bred,  turned  and  looked 
at  her  wonderingly  and  reprovingly.  But  in  her  excite- 
ment, Jerrie  did  not  see  the  disapprobation  in  the  cold, 
proud  eyes.  She  saw  only  what  she  mistook  for  inquiry, 
and  an.swert-d,  eagerly  : 


212  TEN    TEARS    LATER. 

"  That's  Harold — that's  my  brother  !  Oh,  I  am  so 
proud  of  him  !" 

And  leaning  forward  so  that  a  curl  of  her  hair  touched 
the  Boston  woman's  bonnet,  she  threw  the  bunch  of  pond 
lilies,  which  she  had  herself  gathered  that  day  on  the  river 
at  home  before  the  snn  was  up,  and  while  the  white  petals 
were  still  folded  in  sleep.  For  Jerrie  had  come  down  on 
the  early  train  to  see  Harold  gf&duated,  and  Maude  hud 
found  her  in  the  crowd  and  sat  beside  her,  almost  as 
pleased  and  happy  as  she  was  to  see  Harold  thus  acquit 
himself. 

Maude's  roses  which  she  held  in  her  hand  had  been 
bought  at  a  florist's  in  Boston  at  a  fabulous  price,  for  they 
were  the  choicest  and  rarest  in  market,  and  Harold  had 
seen  both  the  roses  and  the  lilies  long  before  they  fell  at 
his  feet.  It  was  a  fancy,  perhaps,  but  it  seemed  to  him 
that  a  sweet  perfume  from  the  latter  reached  him,  with 
the  brightness  of  Jerrie's  eyes.  He  knew  just  where  the 
lilies  came  from,  for  he  had  often  waded  out  to  the  green 
bed  when  the  water  was  low  to  get  them  for  Jerrie  ;  and 
all  the  time  he  was  speaking  there  was  in  his  heart  a 
thought  of  the  old  home,  and  the  woods,  and  the  river, 
and  the  tall  tree  on  the  bank,  with  the  bench  beneath,  and 
on  it  the  girl,  whose  upturned,  eager  face  ho  saw  above  the 
sea  of  heads  confronting  him. 

Jerrie's  approval  was  worth  more  to  the  young  man  than 
that  of  all  the  rest ;  for  he  knew  that,  though  she  would  be 
very  lenient  toward  him,  she  was  a  keen  and  discriminat- 
ing critic,  and  would  detect  a  weakness  which  many  an 
older  person  might  fail  to  see.  But  she  was  satisfied — he 
was  sure  of  that ;  and  if  there  had  been  in  his  miud  any 
doubt,  it  would  have  been  swept  away  when,  after  the  exer- 
cises were  over,  and  he  stood  receiving  the  congratulations  of 
his  friends,  she  worked  her  way  through  the  crowd  and  threw 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  kissing  him  fondly,  and  burst- 
ing into  tears  as  she  told  him  how  proud  she  was  of  him. 

The  eyes  of  half  his  classmates  were  upon  him.  and 
though  Harold  felt  a  thrill  of  keen  delight  at  the  touch  of 
Jerrie's  lips,  he  would  a  little  rather  she  had  waited  until 
they  were  alone. 

"  There,  there,  Jerrie  that  will  do  !"  he  whispered,  as 
he  unclasped  hex*  arms  and  put  her  gently  from  him, 


TEN    JEAHS   LATER.  213 

though  he  still  held  her  hand.  "  Don't  you  see  they  are 
all  looking  at  us." 

With  a  sudden  jerk  Jerrie  withdrew  her  hand  from  his 
and  stepped  back  into  the  crowd,  her  heart  beating  wildly 
and  her  cheeks  burning  with  shame,  as  she  realized  what 
she  had  done  and  how  it  must  have  mortified  Harold. 

Maude  was  speaking  to  him  now — Maude,  with  her 
bright  black  eyes  and  brilliant  color.  But  she  was  neither 
crying  nor  strangling  him  with  kisses.  She  was  shaking 
hands  with  him  very  decorously,  and  telling  him  how 
pleased  and  glad  she  was.  And  in  his  hand  he  held  her 
roses,  which  he  occasionally  smelled  as  he  listened,  and 
smiled  upon  her  with  that  peculiar  smile  which  made  him 
so  attractive.  But  the  lilies  were  nowhere  to  be  seen  ;  and 
when,  an  hour  later,  all  the  baskets  and  bouquets  bearing 
his  name  were  piled  together,  they  were  not  there. 

"  He  has  thrown  them  away  !  He  did  not  care  for 
them  at  all ;  and  I  might  as  well  have  staid  in  bed  as  to 
have  gotten  up  at  four  o'clock  and  risked  my  neck  to  get 
them.  He  likes  Maude  better  than  he  does  me,"  Jerrie 
thought,  with  a  swelling  heart,  and  through  the  journey 
home — for  they  returned  that  night — she  was  very  quiet 
and  taciturn,  letting  Maude  do  the  talking,  and  saying, 
when  asked  why  she  was  so  still,  that  her  head  was  aching, 
and  that  she  was  too  tired  and  sleepy  to  talk. 

That  was  the  last  time  for  years  that  Jerrie  put  her 
arms  around  Harold's  neck,  or  touched  her  lips  to  his  ;  for 
it  had  come  to  her  like  a  blow  how  much  he  was  to  her, 
and  how  little  she  was  to  him. 

"  He  likes  me  well  enough,  but  he  loves  Maude,"  she 
thought ;  and  although  of  all  her  girl  friends,  not  even 
excepting  Nina  St.  Claire,  Maude  was  the  nearest  and  dear- 
est, she  was  half-glad  when,  a  week  or  two  later,  Maude 
said  good-by  to  her,  and  with  her  mother  went  to  Europe, 
where  she  remained  for  more  than  a  year  and  a  half. 

During  her  absence  the  two  girls  corresponded  regu- 
larly and  Jerrie  never  failed  to  write  whatever  she  thought 
would  plea.se  her  friend  to  hear  of  Harold  ;  and  when  at 
last  Maude  returned,  and  wrote  to  Jerrie,  who  was  then  at 
Vassar,  of  failing  health,  and  wakeful  nights,  and  her 
longing  for  the  time  when  Jerrie  would  come  home,  and 
read  to  her,  or  recite  bits  of  poetry,  as  she  had  been  wont 


214  TEN    TEARS    LATEll. 

to  do,  Jerrie  trampled  every  jealous,  selfish  thought  under 
her  feet,  and  in  her  letters  to  Harold  urged  him  to  see 
Maude  as  often  as  possible,  and  read  to  her  whenever  she 
wished  him  to  do  so. 

"  Yon  have  such  a  splendid  voice,  and  read  so  well," 
she  wrote,  "  that  it  will  rest  her  jnst  to  listen  to  you,  and 
will  keep  her  from  being  so  lonely,  so  offer  your  services  if 
she  does  not  ask  for  them — that's  a  good  boy." 

Then,  as  she  remembered  how  weak  Maude  was,  men- 
tally, she  said  to  herself  : 

"  He  will  never  be  happy  with  her  as  she  is  now.  A 
girl  who  cannot  do  a  sum  in  simple  fractions,  and  who, 
when  abroad,  thought  only  of  Rome  as  a  good  place  in 
which  to  buy  sashes  and  ribbons,  and  who  asked  me  in  a 
letter  to  tell  her  who  all  those  Caesars  were,  and  what  the 
Forum  was  for,  is  not  the  wife  for  a  man  like  Harold,  and 
however  much  he  might  love  her  at  first  he  would  be  sure 
to  tire  of  her  after  a  while,  unless  he  can  bring  her  up. 
Possibly  he  can." 

Eesnming  her  pen,  she  wrote  : 

"  Don't  give  her  all  sentimental  poetry  and  love  trash, 
but  something  solid — something  historical,  which  she  can 
remember  and  talk  about  with  you." 

In  his  third  letter  to  Jerrie,  after  the  receipt  of  her 
instructions,  Harold  wrote  as  follows  : 

"  I  have  offered  my  services  as  reader,  and  tried  the 
solid  on  Maude  as  you  advised — have  read  her  fifty  pages 
of  Grote's  history  of  Greece  ;  but  when  I  got  as  far  as 
Homeric  Theogony,  she  looked  piteously  at  me,  while  with 
Hesiod  and  Orpheus  she  was  hopelessly  bewildered,  and  by 
the  time  I  reached  the  extra  Hellenic  religion  she  was  fast 
asleep  !  I  do  not  believe  her  mind  is  strong  enough  to 
grapple  with  those  old  Greek  chaps  ;  at  all  events  they 
worry  her,  and  tire  her  more  than  they  rest  her.  So  I 
have  abandoned  the  gods  and  come  down  to  common  peo- 
ple, and  am  reading  to  her  Tennyson's  poems.  Have  read 
the  May  Queen  four  times,  until  I  do  believe  she  knows  it 
by  heart.  She  has  a  great  liking  for  the  last  portion  of  it, 
especially  the  lines : 

"  '  I  shall  not  forget  you,  mother  : 
I  shall  hear  you  when  you  pass, 
With  your  feet  above  my  head 
In  the  long  and  pleasant  grass.'" 


TEN    YEARS   LATER.  215 

"I  saw  her  cry  one  day  when  I  read  that  to  her.  Poor 
little  Maude  !  She  is  very  frail,  but  no  one  seems  to  think 
her  in  danger,  she  has  so  brilliant  a  color,  and  always 
seems  so  bright/' 

Jerrie  read  this  letter  two  or  three  times,  and  each 
time  with  an  increased  sense  of  comfort.  No  man  who 
really  loved  a  girl  could  speak  of  her  mental  weakness  to 
another  as  Harold  had  spoken  of  Maude's  to  her,  and  it 
might  be  after  all  that  he  merely  thought  of  her  as  a 
friend,  whom  he  had  always  known.  So  the  cloud  was 
lifted  in  part,  and  she  only  felt  a  great  anxiety  for  Maude's 
health,  which,  as  the  spring  advanced,  grew  stronger,  so 
that  it  was  almost  certain  that  she  would  come  to  Vassar 
in  the  summer  and  see  her  friend  graduated.  • 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  Nina  repeated  to 
Jerrie  what  Harold  had  said  to  her  at  the  musicale  the 
previous  winter.  All  day  long  there  was  a  note  of  gladness 
in  Jerrie's  heart  which  manifested  itself  in  snatches  of 
song,  and  low,  warbling,  whistled  notes,  which  sounded 
more  as  if  they  came  from  a  canary's  than  from  a  human 
throat. 

"  Whistling  Jerrie,"  the  girls  sometimes  called  her,  but 
she  rather  liked  the  name,  and  whistled  on  whenever  she 
felt  like  it. 

And  it  was  a  very  joyous,  happy  song  she  trilled,  as 
she  thought  of  Harold's  compliment,  and  of  the  approach- 
ing time  when  he  would,  of  course,  be  there  to  see  and 
hear,  and  as,  in  his  valedictory  of  two  years  before  there 
had  been  in  every  line  a  thought  of  her,  so  in  her  essay, 
which  was  peculiarly  German  in  its  method  and  handling, 
thoughts  of  Harold  were  interwoven.  She  knew  she 
should  receive  a  surfeit  of  applause — she  always  did  ;  but  if 
Harold's  were  wanting  the  whole  thing  would  be  a  failure. 
So  she  wrote  him  frequently,  urging  him  to  come,  and  ho 
always  replied  that  nothing  but  necessity  would  keep  him 
from  doing  so. 


216  TBE    TWO    FACES 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   TWO   FACES    IN   THE   MIRROK. 

the  last  of  May  Arthur  came  to  Vassar,  bring- 
ing with  him  the  graduating  dress  which  he  had 
bought  in  New  York,  with  Maude  as  his  adviser.  He  had 
Jerrie  at  the  hotel  to  spend  Saturday  and  Sunday  with 
him,  and  took  her  to  drive  and  to  shop,  and  then  in  the 
evening  asked  her  to  put  on  her  finery,  that  he  might  see 
how  it  looked. 

"  I  shall  not  hear  you  spout  out  your  erudition, "  he 
said,  "  for  I  detest  crowds,  with  the  dreadful  smell  of  the 
rooms.  I  have  gotten  the  park  house  tolerably  free  from 
odors,  though  the  cook's  drain  is  terrible  at  times,  and  I 
shall  have  brimstone  burned  in  the  cellar  once  a  week. 
But  what  was  I  saying  ?  Oh,  I  know — I  shall  not  be  here 
at  commencement,  and  I  wish  to  see  if  my  Cherry  is  likely 
to  look  as  well  as  any  of  them." 

So  Jerrie  left  him  alone  while  she  donned  the  white 
dress,  which  ^fitted  her  superb  figure  perfectly.  She  knew 
how  well  it  became  her,  and  sure  of  Arthur's  approbation, 
went  back  to  the  parlor,  where  she  had  left  him.  He  was 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  door  when  she  came  in,  and 
going  up  to  him,  she  said  : 

"  Here  I  am  in  all  my  gewgaws.  Do  you  think  I  shall 
pass  muster  1" 

She  spoke  in  German,  as  she  always  did  to  him,  and 
when  he  turned  quickly,  there  was  a  startled  look  on  his 
face,  as  he  said  : 

"  Oh,  Cherry,  it's  you  !  I  thought  for  a  moment  it 
was  Gretchen  speaking  to  me.  Just  so  she  used  to  come  in 
with  her  light  footstep  and  soft  voice,  so  much  like  yours. 
Where  is  she,  Cherry,  that  she  never  comes  nor  writes  ? 
Where  is  Gretchen  now  ?" 

His  chin  quivered  as  he  talked,  and  there  was  a  moisture 
in  his  eyes,  bent  so  fondly  upon  the  young  girl  beside  him. 
He  was  worn  with  the  fatigue  and  excitement  of  his  jour- 


IN    THE    MIRROR.  217 

ncy  and  the  long  drive  he  had  taken,  and  Jerrie  kne\v  that 
whenever  he  was  tired  his  mind  was  weaker  and  wandered 
more  than  usual.  So  she  tried  to  quiet  and  divert  him  by 
calling  his  attention  to  her  dress,  and  asking  how  he  liked 
it. 

"It  is  lovely,"  he  said,  examining  the  lace  and  the  soft 
flounces.  "It  is  the  prettiest  Maude  and  I  could  find. 
You  know,  she  was  with  me,  and  helped  me  select  it. 
Yes,  it's  lovely,  and  so  are  you,  Cherry,  with  Gretchen's 
eyes,  and  hair,  and  smile,  and  that  one  dimple  in  your 
cheek.  She  used  to  wear  soft,  white  dresses,  and  in  this 
you  are  enough  like  her  to  be  her  daughter." 

They  were  standing  side  by  side  before  a  long  mirror, 
she  taller  for  a  woman  than  he  was  for  a  man,  so  that  her 
face  was  almost  on  a  range  with  his,  as  he  stooped  a  little 
forward. 

Glancing  into  the  mirror  at  the  two  faces  so  near  to 
each  other,  Jerrie  s:iw  something  which  for  an  instant  set 
every  nerve  to  quivering  as  she  stepped  suddenly  back, 
looking  first  at  the  man's  face  and  then  at  her  own  in  the 
mirror.  It  was  gone  now,  the  look  which  had  so  startled 
her,  but  it  had  certainly  been  there — a  likeness  between 
the  two  faces — and  she  had  seen  it  plainer  than  she  had 
ever  seen  any  resemblance  between  herself  and  the  picture. 
Gretchen  had  blue  eyes,  and  fair  hair,  and  fair  complex- 
ion, and  so  had  she,  and  so  had  hundreds  of  German  girls, 
and  all  Arthur  had  ever  said  to  her  had  never  brought  to 
her  mind  a  thought  like  the  two  faces  in  the  mirror. 
What  if  it  were  so?  flashed  like  lightning  through  her 
brain,  making  her  so  weak  that  she  grasped  Arthur's  arm 
to  steady  herself,  as  she  tried  to  speak  composedly. 

"  You  are  white  as  your  dress,"  he  said.  "  It  is  this 
confounded  hot  room  ;  let  us  sit  nearer  the  window." 

They  sat  down  together  on  a  sofa,  and  taking  up  a 
newspaper  Arthur  fanned  Jerrie  gently,  while  she  said  to 
him: 

"  Do  you  really  think  I  look  like  Gretchen  ?" 

"  Yes,  except  that  you  are  taller.  You  might  be  her 
daughter." 

"Had  she — had  Gretchen  a  daughter?"  was  Jerrie's 
next  question,  put  hesitatingly. 

"  None  that  I  ever  heard  of,"  Arthur  replied. 

10 


218  THE    TWO    FACES 

"  And  her  name,  when  a  girl,  was  Marguerite  Hem- 
rich,  was  it  not  ?"  Jerrie  went  on. 

"  Yes.     Who  told  you  ?"  Arthur  said. 
"  I  saw  it  on  a  letter  which  you  gave  me  to  post  years 
ago,  when  I  was  a  child,"  Jerrie  went  on.     "You  never 
received  an  answer  to  that  letter,  did  you  ?" 

"  What  letter  did  you  post  for  me  to  Marguerite  Hem- 
rich  ?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  Arthur  said,  the 
old  worried  look  settling  upon  his  face,  which  always 
came  there  when  he  was  trying  to  recall  something  he 
ought  to  remember. 

As  he  grew  older  he  seemed  to  be  annoyed  when  told  of 
things  he  had  forgotten,  and  as  the  letter  had  evidently 
gone  from  his  mind,  Jerrie  said  no  more  of  it.  She 
remembered  it  well  ;  and  never  dreaming  that  it  had  not  g 
been  posted,  she  had  watched  a  long  time  for  an  answer, 
which  never  came.  Gretchen  was  dead  ;  that  was  settled 
in  her  mind.  But  who  was  she  ?  With  the  words,  "  What 
if  it  were  so  ?"  still  buzzing  in  her  brain,  the  answer  to 
this  question  was  of  vital  importance  to  her,  and  after  a 
moment,  she  continued,  as  if  she  had  all  the  time  been 
talking  of  Gretchen  : 

"She  was  Marguerite  Heinrich  when  a  girl  in  VVeis- 
baden,  but  she  had  another  name  afterward,  when  she  was 
married."  . 

"You  are  talking  of  something  you  know  nothing 
about.  Can't  you  let  Gretchen  alone  ?"  Arthur  said,  petu- 
lantly ;  and  springing  up,  he  began  to  pace  the  room  in  a 
state  of  great  excitement,  while  Jerrie  sat  motionless,  with 
a  far-off  look  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  seeing  m  a  vision 
things  she  could  not  retain,  they  passed  so  rapidly  before 
her,  and  were  so  hazy  and  indistinct. 

The  likeness  she  had  seen  in  the  glass  was  gone  now. 
She  was  not  like  Arthur  at  all  ;  it  was  madness  in  her  t® 
have  thought  so.  And  she  was  not  like  Gretchen  either. 
Her  mother  was  lying  under  the  little  pine  tree  which  she 
and  Harold  had  planted  above  the  lonely  grave.  Her 
mother  had  been  dark,  and  coarse,  and  bony,  and  a  peas- 
ant woman— so  Ann  Eliza  Peterkin,  who  had  heard  it 
from  her  father,  had  told  her  once,  when  angry  with  her, 
and  Harold,  when  sorely  pressed,  had  admitted  as  much  t< 
her. 


IN   THE   MIRROR.  219 

"  Dark,  with  large,  hard  hands,"  he  had  said  ;  and 
Jerrie,  hud  answered  indignantly  : 

"  But  hard  and  black  as  they  were,  they  always  touched 
me  gently  and  tenderly,  and  sometimes  I  believe  1  can 
remember  just  how  lovingly  and  carefully  they  wrapped 
the  old  cloak  around  me  to  keep  me  warm.  Dear  mother, 
what  do  I  care  how  black  she  was,  and  coarse.  She  was 
mine,  and  gave  her  life  for  me." 

This  was  when  Jerrie  was  a  child,  and  now  that  she 
was  older  she  was  seeking  to  put  away  this  woman  with 
the  dark  face  and  the  coarse  hands,  and  substitute  in  her 
place  a  fairer,  sweeter  face,  with  hands  like  wax,  and  fea- 
tures like  a  Madonna.  But  only  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  the  wild  dream  vanished,  and  the  sad,  pale  face,  the 
low  voice,  the  music,  the  trees,  the  flowers,  the  sick-room, 
the  death-bed,  the  woman  who  died,  and  the  woman  who 
served,  all  went  out  together  into  the  darkness,  and  she 
was  Jerrie  Crawford  again,  wearing  her  commencement 
dress  to  please  the  man  still  pacing  the  floor  abstractedly, 
and  paying  no  heed  to  her  when  she  went  out  to  change 
her  dress  for  the  blue  muslin  she  had  worn  through  the 
day. 

"When  she  returned  to  the  parlor  she  found  him  at  the 
tea-table,  which  had  been  laid  during  her  absence.  Tak- 
ing her  seat  opposite  to  him  she  made  his  tea,  and  but- 
tered his  toast,  and  chatted,  and  laughed  until  she  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  back  a  quiet  expression  to  the  face 
which  bore  no  likeness  now  to  her  own.  He  was  talking 
of  the  commencement  exercises,  and  regretting  that  he 
could  not  be  present. 

"  I  may  not  be  home,"  he  said.  "  And  if  I  am,  I  shall 
not  come.  Crowds  kill  me,  and  smells  kill  me,  and  we 
are  sure  to  have  both,  but  Harold  will  be  here,  and  he  is 
better  than  forty  old  coves  like  me.  It  is  astonishing  what 
a  fancy  I  have  taken  to  that  young  man.  I  don't  see  a 
fault  in  him,  except  that  he  is  too  infernally  proud. 
Think  of  his  refusing  to  take  any  more  money  from  me 
unless  I  would  accept  his  note  promising  to  pay  it  back  in 
time — just  as  if  he  ever  can  or  will." 

"  Indeed  he  will,"  Jerrie  exclaimed,  rousing  at  once  in 
Harold's  defense.  "  He  will  pay  every  dollar,  and  I  shall 
help  him." 


220  THE    TWO    FACES 

11  You  !"  and  Arthur  laughed,  merrily.  "  How  will 
you  help  him,  I'd  like  to  know." 

"  I  shall  teach  school,  or  give  music  lessons,  or  do  both, 
to  earn  something  for  grandmother,"  Jerrie  answered, 
quickly.  "And  I  shall  help  Harold,  and  shall  pay  Mr. 
Frank  all  he  gave  grandmother  for  my  board.  I  know 
just  how  much  it  is.  Three  dollars  a  week  from  the  time 
I  \v;is  four  years  old  until  I  came  here  to  school.  A  big 
sum,  I  know,  but  I  shall  pay  it.  You  will  see,"  she  went 
on,  rapidly  and  earnestly,  as  she  saw  the  amused  look  on 
Arthur's  face,  and  felt  that  he  was  laughing  at  her. 

"  You  are  going  to  pay  my  brother  to  the  uttermost 
farthing,  but  what  of  me  ?  Am  I  to  be  left  in  the  cold  ?" 
he  asked,  as  he  arose  from  the  table  and  seated  himself 
upon  the  sofa  near  the  window. 

"  I  expect  to  be  your  debtor  all  my  life,"  Jerrie  said, 
as  she  went  up  to  him.  "I  can  never  pay  you  for  all  you 
have  done  for  me,  never.  I  can  only  love  you,  which  1  do 
so  dearly,  as  the  kindest  and  best  of  men." 

She  was  stooping  over  him  now  ;  and  putting  up  his 
hands,  Arthur  drew  her  close  to  him,  so  that  the  two  faces 
we're  again  plainly  reflected,  side  by  side,  in  the  mirror 
opposite — the  man's  gentle  and  tender  as  a  woman's,  the 
girl's  flushed,  and  eager,  and  excited  as  she  caught  a  scc- 
•ond  time  the  likeness  which  made  her  faint  again  as  she 
clasped  her  hands  tightly  together,  and  listened  to  what 
Arthur  was  saying. 

"  You  owe  me  nothing,  Cherry  ;  the  indebtedness  is 
all  on  my  side,  and  has  been  since  the  day  when  a  little 
white  sun-bonnet  showed  itself  at  my  window,  and  a  voice, 
which  I  can  hear  yet,  said  to  me,  'Mr.  Crazy  man,  don't 
you  want  some  cherries  ?'  You  don't  know  how  much  of 
life  and  sunshine  you  brought  me  with  the  cherries.  My 
sky  was  very  black  those  days,  and  but  for  you  I  am  cer- 
tain that  I  should  long  ere  this  have  been  what  you  called 
me — a  crazy  man  for  sure,  locked  up  behind  bars  and  bolts. 
My  little  Cherry  has  been  all  the  world  to  me  ;  and  though 
she  is  very  grand,  and  tall,  and  stately  now,  I  love  to 
remember  her  as  the  child  in  the  sun-bonnet,  clinging  to 
the  ladder,  and  talking  to  the  lunatic  inside.  That  would 
make  a  fine  picture,  and  if  I  were  an  artist  I  would  paint 
it  some  day.  Perhaps  Maude  will.  Did  I  tell  you  that 


IN    THE    MIRROR.  221 

while  she  was  abroad  she  dabbled  in  water-colors  ?  and 
now  she  has  what  she  calls  a  studio,  where  she  perpetrates 
the  most  atrocious  daubs  you  ever  saw.  Poor  Maude  ! 
She  is  weak  in  the  upper  story,  but  is  on  the  whole,  a  nice 
girl,  and  very  pretty,  too,  with  her  black  eyes,  and  bril- 
liant color,  and  kittenish  ways.  We  are  great  friends  now, 
and  she  is  a  comfort  to  me  in  your  absence.  I  am  afraid, 
though,  that  she  is  not  long  for  this  world.  Everything 
tires  her,  and  she  has  grown  so  thin  that  a  breath  might 
blo\v  her  away.  I  think  it  would  kill  Frank  to  lose  her. 
His  life  is  bound  in  hers  ;  and  he  once  said  to  me,  either 
that  he  had  sold,  or  would  sell,  his  soul  for  her.  What  do 
you  suppose  he  meant  ?" 

Jerriu  did  not  reply.  The  likeness  in  the  mirror  had 
disappeared  as  Arthur  grew  more  in  earnest,  and  she  lis- 
tened more  intently  to  what  he  was  saying  of  Maude, 
t-very  word  as  he  went  on  a  blow  from  which  she  shrank 
as  from  some  physical  pain. 

'•' Yes,"  Arthur  continued,  "Maude  is  weak,  mentally 
and  physically,  though  I  believe  she  is  trying  hard  to 
improve  her  mind,  or  rather  that  young  man,  Harold,  is 
trying  to  improve  it  for  her.  He  is  at  the  house  nearly 
every  day,  or  »he  is  at  the  cottage.  But,  hold  on  !  1 1 
wasn't  to  tell,  and  I  haven't  told — only  he  reads  to  her, 
sometimes  outside  when  the  weather  will  admit,  but 
oftener  in  her  studio,  where  she  talks  to  him  of  art,  and 
where  I  once  saw  him  giving  her  a  sitting  while  she  tried 
to  sketch  his  face.  A  caricature,  I  called  it,  ridiculing  it 
so  much  that  she  put  it  away  unfinished,  and  is  now  at 
work  upon  some  water  lilies  he  brought  her,  and  which 
are  really  very  good.  Mrs.  Tracy  is  not  pleased  with  llaz1- 
old's  visits,  and  I  once  overheard  her  saying  to  Maude, 
•'  Why  do  you  encourage  the  attentions  of  that  young  man  ? 
and  why  do  you  run  after  him  every  day  ?'  Hold  on 
again  !  'What  a  tattler  I  am  !  Why  don't  I  stick  to  Dully, 
who  said,  '  You  certainly  do  not  care  for  him.  He  hasn't 
a  cent  lo  his  name,  nor  any  family,  and  has  even  worked 
in  Peterkin's  furnace/  What  Mamie  replied  I  don't  know. 
I  only  heard  Dolly  bang  the  door  hard  as  she  left  the  room, 
so  1  suppo>e  the  answer  was  not  a  pleasing  one.  Dolly  is 
a  grand  lady,  and  would  not  like  her  daughter  to  marry 
any  ordinary  man  like  Harold," 


222  THE    TWO    FACES 

"No/'  Jerrie  said,  slowly,  as  if  speaking  were  an 
effort.  "  N-no  ;  and  you  think  Harold  likes  Maude  very 
much  ?" 

"  Likes  her  ?  Yes.  Why  shouldn't  he  like  a  girl  as 
pretty  as  she,  especially  when  she  meets  him  more  than 
half  way  ?"  Arthur  replied,  and  Jerrie  continued,  in  the 
same  measured  tone: 

"  Ye-es,  and  you  think  he  would  marry  her  if  her 
mother  would  permit  it  ?" 

"  He  is  not  at  all  likely  to  do  that,"  Arthur  answered, 
quickly.  "  A  man  seldom  marries  a  woman  who  throws 
herself  at  his  head  and  lets  him  see  how  much  she  cares 
for  him,  and  Maude  is  doing  just  that.  She  cannot  con- 
ceal anything.  I  tell  you  Cherry,  if  the  time  ever  comes 
when  you  love  somebody  better  than  all  the  world  beside, 
don't  let  him  know  until  he  speaks  for  himself.  Don't  be 
lightly  won.  Better  be  shy  and  cold  than  demonstrative 
and  gushing,  like  Maude.  Gretchen  was  shy  as  a  fawn, 
and  after  I  told  her  I  loved  her  she  would  not  believe  it 
possible.  But  child,  you  look  fagged  and  tired.  It  is  time 
you  were  in  bed.  I  have  talked  you  nearly  to  death. 

"I  am  not  tired,"  Jerrie  said,  "and  I  want  to  know 
what  it  is  about  Maude's  going  to  the  cottage  which  you 
must  not  tell  me.  Is  she  there  very  often,  and  is  that 
throwing  herself  at  Harold's  head,  as  you  call  it  ?" 

She  had  her  arm  around  his  neck  in  a  coaxing  kind  of 
way,  and  Arthur  smoothed  the  soft  white  hand  resting  on 
his  coat-collar,  as  he  answered,  laughingly  : 

"  Mother  Eve  herself.  You  would  have  eaten  the  apple 
too,  had  you  been  Mrs.  Adam.  No,  no,  I  shall  not  tell 
any  secrets.  You  must  wait  and  see  for  yourself.  And 
now  you  must  go,  for  I  am  tired." 

She  said  good-night  and  went  to  her  room,  but  not  to 
sleep  at  once,  because  of  the  tumult  of  emotions  which 
had  been  roused  by  what  Arthur  had  told  her  of  Maude 
and  Harold. 

"  I  don't  believe  now  that  I  really  meant  him  to  make 
love  to  her  when  I  asked  him  to  amuse  her,"  she  whispered 
to  herself,  as  she  dashed  away  two  great  tears  from  her 
cheeks. 

Then,  after  a  moment,  she  continued  : 

"But  they  shall  never  know.    No  one  shall  ever  kmyrt 


IN    THE    MIRROR.  223 

that  I  care,  for  I  don't.  Harold  is  my  brother,  and  I  shall 
love  Maude  as  my  sister,  and  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  make 
her  more  like  what  Harold's  wife  should  be.  She  is  beau- 
tiful, and  good,  and  sweet,  and  true,  and  with  money  and 
position  can  do  far  more  for  him  than  I  could — I,  the 
daughter  of  a  peasant  woman,  the  child  of  a  carpet-bag ; 
and  vet — " 

Hero  Jerrie's  hands  beat  the  air  excitedly  as  she  recalled 
the  wild  fancy  which  had  twice  taken  possession  of  her 
that  night,  and  which  had  been  born  of  that  likeness  seen 
in  the  mirror.  Many  times  since  she  had  passed  from 
childhood  to  womanhood  had  she  speculated  upon  the 
mystery  which  enshrouded  her,  while  one  recollection 
after  another  of  past  events  flitted  through  her  brain,  only 
to  bewilder  her  awhile  and  then  to  disappear  into  oblivion. 
But  never  before  had  she  been  aifected  as  she  was  now 
when  the  possibility  of  what  might  be  nearly  drove  her 
wild. 

"  Oh,  if  that  were  so/'  she  said,  "  I  could  help  Harold, 
and  I'd  give  everything  to  him  and  make  him  my  king,  as 
he  is  worthy  to  be.  There  is  something  far  back,"  she 
continued,  "  something  different  from  the  woman  who 
died  at  my  side.  That  face  which  haunts  me  so  often  was 
a  reality  somewhere.  It  has  kissed  me  and  called  me  dar- 
ling, and  I  saw  the  life  fade  out  of  it — saw  it  cold  and 
dead.  I  know  I  did,  and  sometime,  I'll  go  to  Wiesbaden, 
and  everywhere,  and  clear  the  mystery,  if  possible ;  and  if 
mother  was  a  peasant  girl,  with  hands  coarse,  and  hard, 
and  black  from  labor  in  the  field,  then  I,  too,  will  be  a 
peasant  girl,  and  marry  a  peasant  lad,  and  draw  his  pota- 
toes home  in  a  cart,  while  he  trudges  at  my  side." 

At  this  picture  of  herself  Jerrie  laughed  out  loud,  and 
while  trying  to  think  how  it  would  seem  to  draw  potatoes 
in  a  cart,  after  having  dug  them,  she  fell  asleep  and 
dreamed  of  Maude  and  Harold,  and  studios  and  lilies,  and 
a  face  which  was  a  caricature,  as  Arthur  had  said,  and 
which,  when  at  a  late  hour  she  awoke,  proved  to  be  that  of 
the  chambermaid,  whom  Arthur  had  sent  to  rouse  her,  as 
he  wag  waiting  for  his  breakfast. 


234  MAUDE'S    LETTER. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

MAUDE'S  LETTER. 

TEACY  PARK,  June  — ,  18 — . 
"  1VTY  DARLING  JERRIE  : 

"  I  wish  I  could  send  you  a  whiff  of  the  deli- 
cious air  I  am  breathing  this  morning  from  the  roses  under 
my  window  and  the  pond-lilies  which.  Harold  brought  me 
about  an  hour  ago.  Don't  you  think  he  was  up  before  the 
sun,  and  went  out  upon  the  river  to  get  them  for  me, 
because  he  knows  how  fond  I  am  of  them,  and  I  told  him 
yesterday  that  they  always  made  me  think  of  you,  they  are 
so  sweet,  and  pure,  and  fair.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard 
his  voice  and  seen  the  look  in  his  eyes,  as  he  said  :  '  Yes; 
Jerrie  is  the  lily  and  you  are  the  rose  ;  yon  set  each  other 
off  admirably.  I  am  glad  you  are  so  good  friends/ 

"  Harold  thinks  the  world  of  you,  and  were  yon  his  own 
sister,  I  am  sure  he  could  not  love  you  better  than  he  does. 
How  handsome  he  has  grown  since  I  went  away.  I  always 
thought  him  splendid  looking,  but  he  is  more  than  that 
now  ;  so  tall  and  straight,  with  his  headset  on  his  shoulders 
in  such  an  aristocratic  kind  of  way,  and  then  his  eyes, 
which  look  at  you  so — well,  I  don't  know  how  they  do  look 
at  you,  but  they  are  eyes  you  would  trust  and  never  be 
afraid  of  anything  bad  behind  them.  Uncle  Arthur  says 
his  mother  was  lovely,  and  that  his  father  was  one  of  the 
handsomest  men  of  his  time,  but  1  am  certain  that  Harold 
looks  better  than  cither  of  them,  and  has  inherited  the 
good  qualities  of  both,  without  a  single  bad  one.  Fred 
liaymond — who,  you  know,  is  so  sweet  on  Nina  St.  Claire 
— .-ays,  that  if  Harold  had  all  the  blood  of  a  hundred  kings 
in  his  veins,  he  could  not  be  more  courtly  or  dignified  in 
his  manner  than  he  is,  and  that  is  a  great  deal  for  a  Ken- 
tuck  i  an  to  say.  Fred  is  now  at  Grassy  Spring,  vi.-iting 
Dick  St.  Claire,  and  will  stay  until  Nina  comes  home.  I 
wish  Harold  was  rich,  and  if  I  had  money  of  my  own,  I 
believe  I'd  give  it  to  him,  only  he  wouldn't  take  it,  he  is  so 
awfully  proud,  and  afraid  somebody  will  help  him  \  and  yet 


MAUDE'S    LETTER.  225 

I  respect  him  for  the  pride,  which  has  made  him  teach 
school,  and  do  everything  he  could  find  to  do  in  order  to 
£0  through  college  the  List  two  years  and  p:iy  his  own  way. 
But  I  did  not  like  it  a  bit  when  I  heard  lie  had  accepted  a 
situation  in  Peterkin's  furnace.  I  know  he  had  good 
wages,  but  it  u  dreadful  to  think  of  Harold  under  such  a 
man,  even  if  Billy  is  there.  When  I  told  Uncle  Arthur  he 
laughed,  and  said  :  '  Honor  and  shame  from  no  condition 
rise.'  I  wonder  what  he  meant  ?  I  asked  Tom,  and  he 
said  I  was  a  fool. 

"  Harold  is  studying  law  now  all  the  time  he  can  get  in 
Judge  St.  Claire's  office,  but  he  comes  to  read  to  me  for  an 
hour  or  more  nearly  every  day.  He  came  of  his  own 
accord,  too,  and  sometimes  I  half  think  he  is  trying  to 
drive  something  into  my  head,  or  was,  when  ho  began  to 
read  to  me  about  those  old  Greeks,  Ilesiod  or  Herod,  I 
don't  know  which  and  Theogouy — that's  rather  a  pretty 
name,  don't  you  think  so?  But  I  could  not  stand  the 
Greeks.  My  mind  is  too  weak  to  be  impressed  by  anything 
Grecian,  unless  it  is  the  Grecian  bend.  You  tried  it  until 
you  were  discouraged  and  gave  it  up,  telling  me  I  was  the 
stupidest  idiot  you  ever  saw  !  That  was  the  timo  we  had 
the  spelling  scho  >1  in  the  Tramp  House,  and  you  were  the 
teacher,  and  Harold  chose  me  first,  and  I  spelled  biscuit 
'  biskit !'  Do  you  remember  how  I  cried  ?  and  when  you 
told  me  nobody  would  ever  like  me  unless  I  knew  some- 
thing, Harold  said,  'Don't  talk  like  that,  Jerrie  ;  those 
who  know  the  least  are  frequently  liked  the  best/* 

"  What  a  comfort  those  words  have  been  to  me,  and 
especially  at  the  time  when  I  failed  so  utterly  in  my  exam- 
ination at  Vassar  and  had  to  give  it  up.  Oh,  Jerrie,  you 
do  not  know  how  mortified  I  was  over  that  failure,  to  think 
I  know  so  little ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is  I  can't  learn,  or 
understand,  or  remember,  and  it  makes  my  head  ache  so 
to  try ;  I  am  sorry  on  father's  account,  he  is  so  proud  of  me 
and  would  like  to  see  me  take  the  lead  in  everything. 
Poor  father!  he  is  growing  old  so  fast.  Why,  his  hair  is 
white  as  snow,  and  he  sometimes  talks  to  himself  ju- 
rncle  Arthur  does.  I  wonder  what  ails  him  that  he  never 
smiles  or  seems  interested  in  anything  except  when  I  am 
smoothing  his  hair  or  sitting  on  his  knee  ;  then  ho  brighten-; 
up  and  calls  me  his  pet  and  his  darling,  and  talks.  <, 

10* 


226  MAUDE'S    LETTER. 

kind  of  talk,  I  think.  He  asks  me  if  I  am  glad  I  live  at 
Tracy  Park — if  I  like  the  pretty  things  he  bnys  me,  and  if 
I  should  be  as  happy  if  I  were  poor — not  real  poor,  you 
know,  but  as  we  were  at  Langley  before  I  was  born.  I 
went  there  with  him  a  few  weeks  ago  for  the  first  time  ; 
and  oh,  my  goodness  gracious  !  such  a  poky  little  house 
with  the  stairs  going  right  up  in  the  room,  and  such  a  tiny, 
stuffy  bedroom  !  I  tried  to  fancy  mamma's  scent-bottles, 
and  brushes,  and  combs,  and  that  box  for  polishing  her 
nails,  transported  to  that  room,  and  her  in  there  with  Rosa- 
lie dressing  her  hair.  It  made  me  laugh  till  I  cried,  and  I 
think  papa  did  actually  cry,  for  he  sat  down  upon  the 
stairs  and  turned  his  head  away,  and  when  he  looked  up  his 
eyes  were  wet  and  red,  with  such  a  sorry  look  in  them  that 
I  went  straight  up  and  kissed  him,  and  asked  him  play- 
fully if  he  were  crying  for  the  old  days  when  he  lived  in 
that  house  and  sold  codfish  in  the  store. 

"  '  Yes,  Maude/  he  said.  '  I  believe  I'd  give  the 
remainder  of  my  life  if  I  could  be  put  back  as  I  was  when 
your  Uncle  Arthur's  letter  came  and  turned  my  head.  Oh, 
if  the  years  and  everything  could  be  blotted  out !' 

"  What  do  you  suppose  he  meant  ?  I  was  frightened, 
and  did  not  say  a  word  until  he  asked  me  those  questions  I 
told  you  about  ;  did  I  like  pretty  things  ?  did  I  like  to  live 
at  Tracy  Park,  and  could  I  bear  to  be  poor  and  live  in  the 
Langley  house  ?  I  just  told  him,  '  No,  I  should  not  like 
to  live  in  Langley,  that  I  did  like  living  at  Tracy  Park,  and 
did  like  the  pretty  things  which  money  bought/ 

"  *  Then  I  ought  to  be  content,  if  my  beautiful  Maude 
is  so/  he  said,  and  the  tired  look  on  his  face  lifted  a  little. 

"  He  calls  me  beautiful  so  often.  But  I  don't  see  it,  do 
you  ?  Of  course  you  don't.  You  think  me  too  black,  and. 
small,  and  thin,  and  so  I  am  ;  but  I  think  you  have  the 
loveliest  and  sweetest  face  I  ever  saw,  except  Gretchen's. 
Who  was  she,  I  wonder  ?  Uncle  Arthur  does  not  talk 
much  of  her  now,  though  I  believe  he  kisses  her  every 
night  and  morning.  How  much  he  thinks  of  you,  and 
how  much  he  has  talked  of  Cherry  since  his  visit  to  you  in 
May.  Did  he  say  any  thing  to  you  of  a  trip  to  California  ? 
He  took  us  quite  by  surprise  two  weeks  ago  by  telling  us 
he  was  going.  He  wanted  to  see  the  Yosemite  Valley 
before  he  died,  he  said,  and  June  was  the  time  to  see  it. 


MAUDES    LETTER.  227 

So  he  started  off  with  Charles  about  ten  days  ago,  and  the 
house  seems  so  dull  without  him. 

"  If  I  can,  I  shall  come  to  see  you  graduate  with  the 
other  Vassars,  though  I  shall  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  where 
I  failed  so  utterly.  I  might  have  known  I  should,  for  I 
haven't  about  me  a  single  quality  which  would  entitle  me 
to  be  a  Vassar.  How  learned  you  and  Nina  will  be,  and 
how  you  will  cast  me  in  the  shade,  making  me  seem  stup- 
ider than  ever.  I  did  try  very  hard  to  learn  to  speak  Ger- 
man when  I  was  abroad  with  mamma,  for  father  wished  it 
particularly ;  but  I  could  not  do  it,  and  gave  it  up.  I 
have  not  a  capacity  for  anything,  except  to  love  and  suffer 
and  sacrifice  for  those  I  love.  Do  you  know,  it  sometimes 
frightens  me  to  think  how  devotedly  I  could  love  some 
one.  Not  a  girl,  but  a  man — a  lover — a  husband,  who  loved 
me.  Why,  I  would  give  my  life  for  him,  and  bear  any  kind 
of  torture  if  it  would  add  to  his  happiness.  But  why 
write  this  nonsense  to  you,  who  never  acted  as  if  you  cared 
an  atom  for  any  boy,  not  even  Dick  St.  Claire,  who  used 
to  give  you  sugar  hearts  and  call  you  his  little  wife.  Entre 
nous  (who  says  I  don't  know  two  French  words  ?)  mamma 
would  like  to  make  a  match  between  Dick  and  me,  but  she 
never  will.  Dick  is  nice,  and  1  like  him,  but  not  that  way. 
Poor  mamma  !  How  much  she  thinks  of  money  and  posi- 
tion !  I  tell  her  sho  ought  to  have  a  photograph  of  the  old 
Langley  house  hung  up  in  her  room  to  keep  her  in  mind 
of  her  former  condition.  Just  now  she  has  the  craze  to 
hammer  brass  and  paint  in  water-colors,  and  goes  over  to 
Mrs.  Atherton's  to  take  lessons.  Don't  you  think  that 
Mrs.  Peterkin — May  Jane — had  like  aspirations  with 
mamma,  and  wanted  to  join  the  class ;  but  the  teacher 
.found  that  sho  had  as  many  pupils  as  she  could  attend  to, 
and  so  May  Jane  is  left  out  in  the  cold.  But  Mr.  Peterkin 
says,  '  By  George,  my  wife  shall  have  'complishments  if 
money  can  buy  'em  !'  And  so,  I  suppose  she  will.  What 
strides  those  Peterkins  have  taken,  to  be  sure,  and  what  a 
big  house  he  has  built  with  such  a  funny  name — (Le  -Bat- 
teau,'  which,  as  he  pronounces  it,  sounds  like  Lubber-tool 
It  is  just  finished,  and  they  have  moved  into  it.  I  have 
not  been  there,  but  Tom  has,  and  he  says  it  fairly  glitters, 
it  is  so  gorgeous,  and  looks  inside  like  those  chariots  which 
come  with  circuses. 


228  MAUDE'S    LETTER. 

"You  ought  to  hear  Petorkin  talk  about  his  '  Ann 
'Lizy,'  wlio,  he  says,  '  is  to  Vassar,  gettin'  schoolin'  with 
the  big  bugs,  and  when  she  comes  hum  he  is  goin'  to  get 
her  a  boss  and  cart  for  her  own,  and  a  maid,  and  a  vally, 
too,  if  she  wants  one/  Well,  there  are  some  bigger  fools 
in  the  world  than  I  am,  and  that's  a  comfort.  As  for  Billy, 
he  stammers  worse,  if  possible,  than  he  used  to  when  he 
told  us  we  wore  'pl-pl-plaguey  mean  to  pl-pl-plague  Ann 
Lizyso  ;'  but  I  guess  I  will  let  him  burst  upon  you  in  all 
the  magnificence  of  his  summer  attire — his  light  clothes, 
short  coat,  tight  pants,  pointed  shoes,  and  stove-pipe  hat 
to  make  him  look  taller.  He  comes  here  occasionally  to 
see  Tom,  and  always  talks  of  you.  I  do  believe  you  might 
be  Mrs.  Billy  Peterkin  and  live  at  Lubber-too,  if  you 
wanted  ;  but,  really,  Billy  is  very  kind  to  Harold,  who  gets 
twice  as  much  wages  in  the  office,  when  he  writes  there,  as 
he  would  if  it  were  not  for  Billy. 

"Tom  is  home,  doing  nothing,  but  taking  his  ease  and 
aping  an  English  swell.  You  know  he  was  with  mamma 
and  me  in  England,  and  since  his  return  has  affected  every- 
thing English,  and  looks  quite  like  the  dude  of  the  period. 
He,  too,  seems  interested  in  your  return;  and  I  don't 
know  but  you  might  be  mistress  of  Tracy  Park,  if  you 
could  fancy  the  incumbrance.  Dick  St.  Claire  is  going 
to  Vassar,  and  Harold,  too,  if  he  possibly  can.  He  is  very 
busy  just  now  with  something  he  must  finish,  and  perhaps 
he  can't  be  there.  Tom  is  going,  and  Fred  Kaymond,  and 
Billy  Peterkin — quite  a  turn-out  from  Shannondale. 

"I  can  hardly  wait  to  see  you.  Only  think,  it  is 
almost  two  years  since  I  said  good-by;  for  we  went  to 
Europe  just  after  Harold  was  graduated,  and  your  last 
Christmas  holidays  were  over  before  we  came  home. 

"What  a  long  letter  I  have  written  you, .and  have  not 
told  you  a  word  of  my  health,  about  which  you  inquired 
so  particularly.  Did  Uncle  Arthur  tell  you  anything  ?  I 
wish  he  had  not,  for  it  worries  me  to  have  people  look,  and 
act,  and  talk  as  if  I  were  sick,  when  I  am  not.  If  I  had 
not  a  pain  in  my  side,  and  a  tickling  cough,  which  keeps 
me  awake  nights  and  makes  me  sweat  until  my  hair  is  wet, 
I  should  be  perfectly  strong  ;  and  but  for  the  pain  and  the 
weariness,  I  feel  as  well  as  I  ever  did;  and  I  go  out  nearly 
every  day,  and  I  don't  want  to  die  and  leave  my  beautiful 


MAUDE'S    LETTER.  229 

home,  and  father,  and  mother,  and  3-011,  and — everybody  I 
love.  I  am  too  young  to  die.  I  cannot  die. 

"Oh,  Jerrie,  I  am  glad  you  are  coming  home  !  You 
will  do  me  good,  just  as  Harold  does.  He  is  so  strong 
every  way,  and  so  kind.  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  what  he 
has  been  to  me  since  I  came  home  in  March — more  than  a 
friend — more  than  a  brother. 

"And  now  I  must  say  good-by,  for  I  am  getting  tired 
and  must  rest.  I  was  at  the  cottage  this  morning,  and 
Harold  is  coming  here  this  afternoon  to  read  Tennyson's 
'  May  Queen  '  to  me.  He  has  read  it  a  dozen  times,  but  I 
am  never  tired  of  it,  although  it  makes  me  cry  to  tiiink  of 
that  grave  in  the  long  grass,  with  little  Alice  in  it,  cold 
and  dead,  listening  for  those  she  loved  to  come  and  weep 
over  her.  You  know,  she  says  to  her  mother  : 

"  '  I  shall  hear  you  when  you  pass, 

With  your  feet  above  me,  in  the  long  and  pleasant  grass.' 

"  Oh,  Jerrie,  if  it  should  be — you  know  what  I  mean  ; 
if  there  should  come  a  time  when  people  say  to  each  other, 
'  Maude  Tracy  is  dead  !'  you'll  come  ofter,  won't  you,  and 
think  of  me  always  as  the  friend,  who,  weak  and  stupid  rs 
she  was,  loved  you  dearly — dearly. 

"  Now,  good-by  again.     Harold  has  just  come  in,  and 
says,  '  Remember  me  to  Jerrie,  and  tell  her  I  shall  hope  to 
see  her  graduated,  but  do  not  know,  I  am  so  busy/ 
"  Truly  and  lovingly, 

"MAUDE  TRACY." 

"  P.  S. — Tom  has  come  in,  and  says,  '  Give  my  love 
to  Jerrie.' 

"  P.  S.  No.  2.— Dick  St.  Claire  and  Fred  Raymond  are 
here,  and  both  send  their  regards. 

"  P.  S.  No.  3.— If  you  will  believe  me,  Billy  Petcrkin 
is  here,  nibbling  his  little  cane,  and  says,  '  Present  my 
compliments  to  Miss  Crawford.' 

"  Just  think  of  it.  Five,  or,  rather,  four  young  men — 
for  Tom  don't  count — for  me  to  entertain.  But  1  can  do 
it,  and  rather  like  it,  too,  though  they  all  tire  me,  except 
Harold." 

Jerrie  read  this  letter  which  was  received  a  few  days 


230  "HE    COMETH   NOT,"    SEE   SAID. 

before  commencement,  two  or  three  times,  and  each  tima 
she  read  it,  the  little  ache  in  her  heart  kept  growing 
larger,  until  at  last  it  was  actual  pain,  and  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  she  cried  like  a  child. 

"  It  is  Maude  I  am  crying  for,"  she  kept  saying  to  her- 
self. "  I  know  she  is  worse  than  they  have  told  me.  She 
is  going  to  die,  and  I  am  mean  to  grudge  her  Harold's  lovo, 
if  that  will  make  her  happier.  Why  does  she  go  to  the 
cottage  so  often,  I  wonder  ?  Is  it  to  see  him  ?  He  would 
not  like  me  to  do  that.  He  was  chagrined  when  I  kissed 
him  at  Harvard.  But,  then,  he  does  not  love  me,  and  lie 
does  Maude  ;  but  he  must  come  to  commencement.  I'll 
write  and  tell  him  so  ;'"  and  seizing  her  pen,  Jerrie  wrote, 
rapidly  and  excitedly  : 

"  DEAR  HAROLD  : 

"  I  have  just  heard  from  Maude,  who  says  there  is  a 
possibility  that  you  will  not  come  to  Vassar  ;  but  I  shall  be 
so  disappointed  if  you  do  not.  I  would  rather  have  you 
here  than  all  the  wise  old  heads  in  the  State.  So  come 
without  fail,  no  matter  what  you  are  doing.  I  can't 
imagine  anything  which  should  keep  you.  Tell  grandma 
I  am  longing  to  be  home,  and  keep  thinking  just  how  cool 
and  nice  the  kitchen  looks,  with  the  hop- vine  over  the 
door  ;  but  she  will  have  to  raise  the  roof  soon,  for  I  do 
believe  I've  grown  an  inch  since  last  winter,  and  am  in 
danger  of  knocking  my  brains  out  in  those  low  rooms. 
"  Good-by  till  I  see  you.  "  JEBBIE." 


CHAPTEK  XXVII. 

"HE  COMETH  NOT,"   SHE  SAID. 

THE  she  was  Jerrie,  who,  the  night  before  commence- 
ment, was  shaking  hands  with  Dick  St.  Claire,  Fred 
Raymond,  Tom  Tracy,  and  Billy  Peterkin,  all  of  whom 
had  arrived  on  the  evening  train,  and  after  dinner  had 
come  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  young  ladies  from  Shan- 


"HE    COMETH   NOT,"    SHE    SAID.  231 

nondale.  The  lie  was  Harold,  for  whom  Jerrie  asked  at 
once. 

"  Where  is  Harold  ?  Is  he  coming  in  the  morning  ?" 
she  said,  as  she  stood,  tall,  and  straight,  and  queen-like, 
before  the  four  young  men,  who  glanced  at  each  other  with 
a  significance  in  their  looks,  which  she  did  not  understand. 

It  was  Dick  St.  Claire  who  took  it  upon  himself  to 
explain. 

"  No,  Hal  is  not  coming,"  he  said,  "and  he  is  awfully 
cut  up  about  it.  He  thought  he  might  manage  it  until 
yesterday,  when  he  found  it  impossible  to  do  so.  You  see, 
he  has  taken  a  job  which  must  be  done  at  a  certain  time." 

"  Taken  a  job  !"  Jerrie  repeated.  "  What  job  ?  What 
do  you  mean  ?"  and  her  blue  eyes  flashed  upon  each  of  the 
young  men,  falling  last  upon  Tom  Tracy,  as  if  she  expected 
him  to  answer,  which  he  did  in  the  half  sneering,  half 
satirical  tone  which  made  her  long  to  box  his  ears. 

"  Why,  it's  a  sort  of  carpenter's  job,"  he  said  ;  "and  I 
heard  his  hammer  going  this  morniug  before  sunrise,  for  I 
was  up  early  for  once  and  out  in  the  park.  Sounded  as  if 
he  were  shingling  a  roof,  and  that's  work,  you  know,  which 
must  be  done  in  fair  weather.  It  might  rain  and  spoil  the 
plastering." 

"  Thank  you,"  Jerrie  answered,  curtly.  "  Harold  is 
shingling  a  roof,  and  cannot  come.  But  where  is  Maude  ? 
Is  she  shingling  a  roof,  too  ?" 

"  Yes,  b-b-by  Jove.  You've  h-hit  it.  Maude's  sh-shin- 
gling  a  roof,  too  ;  the  b-best  joke  out."  Billy  Peterkin 
chimed  in,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  join  in  the  conversa- 
tion, and  so  get  some  attention  from  Jerrie. 

He  was  a  little  man,  only  five  feet  two  with  heels,  and 
he  wore  the  light  clothes  of  which  Maude  had  written,  and 
a  stove-pipe  hat  and  dove  colored  gloves,  and  carried  a  lit- 
tle cane,  which  he  constantly  nibbled  at,  when  he  was  not 
beating  his  little  boot  with  it.  But  he  was  good-natured 
and  inoffensive  and  kind-hearted,  with  nothing  low  or 
mean  in  his  nature  ;  and  Jerrie  liked  him  far  better  than 
she  did  the  "elegant  Tom,"  as  she  had  nicknamed  him, 
who  stood  six  feet  without  heels,  and  who  knew  exactly 
what  shade  of  color  to  choose,  from  his  neck-tie  to  his 
hose,  which  were  always  silk  of  the  finest  quality.  Tom 
was  faultlessly  gotten  up,  and  carried  himself  as  if  he  knew 


232  "  UE    COMETH   NOT,"    SHE    SAID. 

it,  and  knew,  too,  that  he  was  Tom  Tracy,  the  future  heir 
of  Tracy  Park,  it'  lie  were  fortunate  enough  to  outlive  both 
his  uncle  ami  his  father.  Jerrie  had  disliked  him  when  he 
was  a  boy  and  was  not  very  fond  of  him  now  although  they 
were  seeemingly  good  friends  except  when  he  roused  her  to 
anger  with  what  she  called  his  airs.  Turning  her  back 
upon  him  she  pretended  to  be  interested  in  "little  Billy," 
as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  calling  him,  he  was  so  short  and 
she  was  so  tall. 

He  was  speaking  of  Harold,  and  he  said  : 

"It's  a  d-d  used  shame  he  co-couldn't  come,  b-but  he 
sent  some  money  by  D-Dick  to  b-buy  you  a  b-b-basket  in 
New  York,  and  by  George,  we've  got  a  st-stunner  down  to 
the  h-hotel ;  only  I'm  a-afraid  it'll  be  w-wilted  some 
b-before  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,"  Dick  said,  coming  forward,  "  I  should  not  have 
told  you  now,  it  Billy  had  not  let  it  out ;  Hal  did  give  me 
some  money  to  buy  a  basket  of  flowers  for  yrm  :  the  very  best 
I  could  find,  he  said,  and  I  got  a  big  one  ;  but  I'm  afraid  it 
was  not  very  fresh,  for  it  begins  to  look  wilted  now.  You 
must  blame  Tom,  though  ;  he  pretends  to  be  up  in  flowers, 
and  advised  my  getting  this  one  in  New  York,  because  it 
was  so  handsome  and  cheap." 

"Oh,  it  is  all  right,"  Tom  drawled,  in  that  affected 
voice  he  had  adopted  since  his  return  from  Europe.  "  It 
was  the  best,  any  way,  we  could  get  for  the  money,  Hal, 
you  know,  isn't  very  flush  in  the  pocket." 

It  was  a  mean  speech  to  make,  and  all  Tom's  audience 
felt  it  to  be  so,  while  Jerrie  crimsoned  with  resentment 
and  answered  hotly  : 

"Faded  or  not,  I  shall  care  more  for  Harold's  flowers 
than  for  all  the  rest  which  may  be  given  me." 

This  was  not  very  encouraging  to  three  at  least  of  the 
young  men,  who  were  intending  to  make  the  finest  floral 
offering  they  could  find,  to  the  girl  whom  in  their  secret 
hearts  they  admired  more  than  any  girl  they  had  ever  seen, 
and  who,  had  she  made  the  slightest  sign,  might  have  been 
installed  at  Grassy  Spring,  or  Tracy  Park,  or  Le  Bateau, 
within  less  than  a  month.  But  Jerrie  had  never  made  a 
sign  and  had  laughed  and  chatted  and  flirted  with  them 
all,  not  excepting  Tom,  who  had  long  ago  dropped  his 
supercilious  air  of  superiority  and  patronage  when  talking 


"HE    COMETH    NOT,"    SHE    SAID.  233 

with  her,  and  who  treated  her  with  a  gentleness  and  con- 
sideration almost  loverlike.  Horribly  jealous  of  Harold, 
whom  he  still  felt  infinitely  above,  although  he  did  not 
now  often  openly  show  it,  he  had  encouraged  the  visits  of 
the  latter  to  Tracy  Park,  and  by  jokes  and  hints  and 
innuendoes  had  fed  the  flame  which  he  knew  was  burning 
in  his  sister's  heart. 

"  There  will  be  a  jolly  row  when  mother  finds  it  out," 
he  said  to  Maude  one  day  ;  "  for  you  know  she  holds  her 
head  a  great  deal  higher  than  Hal  Hastings,  who  isn't  the 
chap  I'd  choose  for  a  brother-in-law.  But  if  you  like  him, 
all  right.  Stick  to  him,  and  I'll  stand  by  you  to  the 
death." 

This  was  to  Maude  ;  while  to  his  mother,  when  she 
complained  that  Harold  came  there  quite  too  often,  and 
that  Maude  was  running  after  him  too  much,  he  said: 

"  Nonsense,  mother !  let  Maude  alone.  She  knows 
what  she  is  about,  and  would  not  wipe  her  shoes  on  Hal 
Hastings,  much  less  marry  him.  She  is  lonely  without 
Nina  and  Jerrie,  and  not  strong  enough  to  read  much  her- 
self, and  Hal  amuses  her;  that's  all.  I  know.  I  have 
talked  with  her.  I  am  keeping  watch,  and  the  moment  I 
see  any  indications  of  love-making  on  either  side  I  will 
give  you  warning,  and  together  we  will  put  my  fine  chap 
in  his  proper  place  in  a  jiffy." 

Tom  was  a  young  man  now  of  twenty-seven,  tall,  and 
finely  formed,  with  all  his  mother's  good  L  oks,  and  his 
Uncle  Arthur's  courtliness  of  manner  when  he  felt  that  his 
companions  were  worthy  of  his  notice,  but  proud,  and  arro- 
gant, and  self -asserting  with  his  inferiors,  or  those  whom 
he  thought  such.  He  had  never  overcome  his  unwarrant- 
able dislike  of  Harold,  whom  he  considered  far  beneath 
him  ;  but  Harold  was  too  popular  to  be  openly  treated  with 
contempt,  and  so  there  was  a  show  of  friendship  and  civil- 
ity between  them,  without  any  real  liking  on  either  side. 
Tom  could  not  tell  just  when  he  began  to  look  upon  Jerrie 
as  the  loveliest  girl  he  had  ever  seen,  and  to  contemplate  the 
feasibility  of  making  her  Mrs.  Tom  Tracy.  His  admira- 
tion for  her  had  been  of  slow  growth,  for  she  was  worse 
than  a  nobody — a  child  of  the  Tramp  House,  of  whose 
antecedents  nothing  was  known,  while  he  was  a  Tra 
Tracy  Park,  whom  a  duchess  might  be  proud  towed,  But 


234  "HE    COMETH    NOT,"    SHE    SAID. 

he  had  succumbed  at  last  to  Jerrie's  beauty,  and  sprightli- 
ness,  and  originality,  and  now  his  love  for  her  had  become 
the  absorbing  passion  of  his  life,  and  he  would  have  made 
her  his  wife  at  any  moment,  in  the  face  of  his  mother's 
opposition.  By  some  subtle  intuition  he  felt  that  Harold 
was  his  rival,  and  whatever  he  could  do  to  lower  him  in 
Jerrie's  estimation  he  would  do  without  the  least  hesita- 
tion. 

It  was  Tom  who  had  insisted  that  Harold's  basket 
should  be  bought  in  New  York,  where  there  was  a  better 
choice  he  said,  and  he  had  himself  selected  flowers  which 
he  knew  were  not  fresh,  and  would  be  still  worse  twenty- 
four  hours  later. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  yours  here,  if  it  is  the  be-best 
place  ?"  Billy  Peterkin  had  asked  him,  and  he  replied  : 

"  Oh,  we  can't  be  bothered  with  more  than  one  basket 
in  the  train.  I  can  find  something  there." 

He  did  not  say  what  he  intended  to  find,  or  that  bas- 
kets were  quite  too  common  for  him,  but  after  leaving  the 
young  ladies  in  the  evening,  he  went  to  a  florist's  and 
ordered  for  Jerrie  a  book  of  white  daisies,  with  a  rack  of 
purple  pansies  for  it  to  rest  upon. 

"  That  will  certainly  be  unique,  and  show  her  that  I 
have  taste,"  he  thought. 

For  Nina  a  bouquet  was  sufficient,  while  for  Ann  Eliza 
Peterkin  he  ordered  nothing.  Tom  could  be  lavish  of  hia 
money  where  his  own  interest  was  concerned,  but  where  he 
had  no  interest  he  was  stingy  and  even  mean  ;  and  so  poor 
little  red-haired  Ann  Eliza,  who  would  have  prized  a  leaf 
from  him  more  than  all  the  florist's  garden  from  another, 
was  to  get  nothing  from  him. 

"  What  business  has  old  Peterkin's  daughter  to  gradu- 
ate, any  way  ?"  he  thought,  and  he  looked  on  with  a  sneer, 
Avhile  Billy  ordered  five  baskets,  one  of  which  was  to  be  of 
white  roses,  with  a  heart  of  blue  forget-me-nots  in  the 
center. 

"What  under  heaven,  are  yon  going  to  do  with  five 
baskets  ?"  he  asked ;  but  Billy  was  non-committal,  for  he 
would  not  own  that  three  were  intended  for  Jerrie.  whom 
he  wished  to  carry  off  the  palm,  so  far  as  flowers  were  con- 
cerned. 

And  she  did  j  for  of  all  the  young  ladies  who  the  next 


"HE    COMETH    NOT,"    SHE    SAID.  235 

day  passed  in  review  before  the  multitude,  no  one  attracted 
so  much  attention  or  received  so  much  praise  as  Jerrie,  or 
half  as  many  flowers — her  room  was  full  of  them — baskets 
and  bouquets  and  Tom  Tracy's  book  showing  conspicuously 
from  the  rest  and  attracting  universal  admiration. 

But  alas  for  poor  Harold's  gift !  Dick  had  watered  it 
the  last  thing  before  going  to  bed  and  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning,  but  the  flowers  were  limp  and  faded,  and  gave 
forth  a  sickly  odor,  while  the  leaves  of  the  roses  were  drop- 
ping off,  and  only  the  size  which  was  immense,  remained  to 
tell  what  it  once  had  been.  But  Jerrie  singled  it  out  from 
all  the  rest,  and  that  night  at  a  reception  given  to  the  grad- 
uates, she  wore  in  her  bosom  two  faded  pink  roses,  the  only 
ones  she  could  make  hold  together,  and  which  Nina  told 
her  smelled  a  little  old.  But  Jerrie  did  not  care.  They 
were  Harold's  roses,  which  he  had  sent  to  her,  and  she 
prized  them  more  than  all  the  rest  she  had  received.  At 
little  Billy's  heart  she  laughed  till  she  cried,  and  then  gave 
it  to  a  young  girl  who  admired  it  exceedingly.  Tom's  book 
she  knew  was  exquisite  and  thanked  him  for  it,  and  told 
him  it  was  lovely,  and  then  gave  it  to  Ann  Eliza,  whose 
offerings  had  been  so  few.  A  bouquet  from  Dick  St.  Claire 
and  Fred  Raymond  and  a  basket  from  her  brother,  were  all, 
and  the  little  red-haired  girl,  who,  with  her  heavy  gold  chain 
and  locket,  and  diamond  ear-rings,  and  three  bracelets,  and 
five  finger  rings,  had  looked  like  a  jeweler's  shop,  felt 
aggrieved  and  neglected,  and  Jerrie  found  her  sobbing  in 
her  room  as  if  her  heart  were  broken. 

"Only  three  snipping  things,"  she  said,  "and  you  had 
twenty-five,  and  mother  will  be  so  disappointed,  and  father, 
too,  when  he  knows  just  how  few  I  got.  I  wish  I  was  pop- 
ular like  you." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Jerrie,  cheerfully.  "  It  was  only 
a  happen  so — my  getting  so  many.  You  are  just  as  nice  as 
I  am,  and  I'll  give  you  part  of  mine  to  take  home,  to 
your  mother.  I  can  never  carry  them  all.  I  should  have 
to  charter  a  car,"  and  in  a  few  moments  six  of  Jerrie's  bas- 
kets were  transferred  to  Ann  Eliza's  room,  including  Tom. 
Tracy's  book. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  take  that,"  Ann  Eliza  said ;  "  he  didn't 
mean  it  for  me  ;  he  didn't  give  me  anything,  and  I — 


236  "  HE    COMETH    NOT,"    SHE    SAID. 

Here  she  began  to  sob  again,  and  laying  her  hand  pity- 
ingly upon  the  bowed  head,  Jerri e  said: 

"  Yes,  I  know;  I  understand.  Something  from  Tom 
Tracy  would  have  pleased  you  more  than  from  any  one 
else ;  but  listen  to  me,  Annie.  Tom  is  not  worth  your 
tears." 

"Don't  you  care  for  him  ?"  the  girl  asked,  lifting  her 
head  suddenly. 

"  Not  a  particle,  as  you  mean.  You  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  me,"  Jerrie  replied. 

This  was  a  grain  of  comfort  to  the  girl  who  had  been 
Avcak  enough  to  waste  her  affections  upon  Tom  Trac}r,  and 
to  hope  that  she  might  eventually  succeed  in  bringing  him 
to  her  feet,  for  she  knew  bis  fondness  for  money,  and  that 
she  should  in  all  probability  be  one  day  the  heiress  of  a 
million.  So  great  was  her  infatuation  for  the  man  who 
had  never  shown  her  the  slightest  attention,  that  even  his 
flowers,  though  second-hand,  and  not  intended  for  her, 
were  everything  to  her,  and  when  she  packed  her  trunk 
that  night  she  put  them  carefully  away  in  many  wrappings 
of  paper,  to  be  brought  out  at  home  in  the  privacy  of  her 
own  room,  and  kept  as  long  as  the  least  beauty  or  perfume 
remained. 

It  was  a  very  merry  party  which  the  New  York  train 
carried  to  Shannondale  the  next  day,  and  Jerrie  was  the 
merriest  and  gayest  of  them  all,  bandying  jokes,  and  jests, 
and  coquetting  pretty  equally  with  the  young  men,  until 
neither  Tom,  nor  Diek,  nor  Bill}7,  quite  knew  what  he  was 
doing  or  saying.  But  always,  in  her  gayest  moods,  when 
her  eyes  were  brightest,  and  her  wit  the  keenest,  there  was 
in  Jerrie's  heart  a  thought  of  Harold,  who  had  so  dis- 
appointed her,  and  a  wonder  as  to  the  nature  of  the  job 
which  had  been  of  sufficient  importance  to  keep  him  from 
Vassar. 

"  '  Shingling  a  roof,  and  Maude  is  helping  him/  "  Billy 
said.  "I  wonder  what  he  meant?"  she  was  thinking, 
when  she  heard  Ann  Eliza  cry  out  that  tne  towers  of  '  Le 
Bateau'  were  visible. 

As  she  had  not  seen  that  wonderful  structure  since  its 
completion,  she  arose  from  her  seat,  and  going  to  the  win- 
dow, looked  out  upon  the  massive  pile  in  the  distance, 
looking,  wTith  its  turrets,  and  towers,  and  round  projec- 


12f    SIIANNONDALE.  23? 

tions,  like  some  old  castle  rather  than  a  home  where  people 
could  live  and  be  happy. 

"  It  is  very  grand,"  she  said  to  Ann  Eliza  ;  and  Billy, 
who  \vas  leaning  toward  her,  replied  : 

"  Yes,  too  grand  for  a  Pe-Peterkin.  It  wants  you 
there,  Jerrie,  as  its  m-m-mastor-p-p-piece,  and,  by  Jove, 
yon  can  b-be  there,  too,  if  you  will !" 

No  one  heard  this  attempt  at  an  offer  but  Jerrie,  who, 
with  a  sancy  toss  of  her  head,  replied,  laughingly: 

"  Thank  you,  Billy.  I'll  think  of  it,  and  let  you  know 
when  I  make  up  my  mind  to  come.  Just  now  I  prefer  the 
cotra.ae  in  the  lane  to  any  spot  on  earth.  Oh,  here  we  are 
at  the  station,"  she  cried,  as  the  train  shot  round  a  curve, 
and  Shannondale  was  reached. 

There  was  a  scrambling  for  bundles,  and  flowers,  and 
wraps  Fred  Raymond  gathering  up  Nina's,  while  Dick, 
ami  Tom,  and  Billy,  almost  fought  over  Jerrie's,  and  poor 
little  Ann  Eliza  would  have  carried  hers  alone,  if  Jerrie 
had  not  helped  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IN  SHANNONDALE. 

TEN"  years  of  change  in  Shannondale,  and  the  green 
hill-side,  which  stretched  from  the  common  down  to 
the  river,  and  where,  when  our  story  opened,  sheep  and  cows 
were  feeding  in  the  pasture  land,  is  thickly  covered  with 
dwellings  of  every  kind  of  architecture,  from  the  Mansard 
roof  to  the  Queen  Anne  style,  just  coming  into  fashion, 
while  the  meadow  lauds  are  dotted  over  with  the  small 
hoii-es  of  the  men  who  work  in  the  large  furnace,  or  manu- 
factory, whie.li  Peterkin  had  bought  and  enlarged,  as  a 
monument,  he  said,  and  where  he  sometimes  employed  as 
many  as  four  hundred  men,  and  had  set  up  a  whistle  which 
could  he  heard  for  miles  and  miles,  it  was  so  loud  and 
shrill.  A  screecher,  Peterkiu  called  it,  and  he  always  lis- 
tened with  a  smile  of  pride  and  satisfaction  on  his  face 
when  he  heard  the  first  indications  of  its  blowing,  and 


238  2tf  SHANNONDALE. 

knew  that  four  hundred  men  were  quickening  their  steps 
on  account  of  it,  lest  they  should  be  a  few  minutes  late  and 
have  their  wages  docked. 

Peterkin  counted  two  millions  now,  and  boasted  the 
finest,  or  at  least,  the  most  expensive  house  in  the  county, 
not  even  excepting  Tracy  Park,  which  still  held  its  own 
for  solidity  and  old-fashioned  dignity,  and  was  the  show 
place  to  the  strangers  visiting  in  Shannondale. 

When  Peterkin  made  $20,000  in  one  day  from  some 
speculation  in  stocks,  he  said  to  Mr.  St.  Claire,  who  was 
now  a  judge,  and  with  whom  he  pretended  to  be  on  terms 
of  great  familiarity  : 

"I  say,  judge,  I'm  goin'  to  build  a  buster,  and  whip 
the  crowd,  I've  lived  about  long  enough  in  that  little  nine- 
by-ten  hole,  and  I'll  be  dumbed  if  I  don't  show  'em  what  I 
can  do.  I'll  have  towers,  and  bay-windows,  and  piazzers, 
with  checkered  work  all  'round  'em,  and  a  preservatory, 
and  all  kinds  of  new-fangled  doin's.  May  Jane  and  Ann 
'Liza  want  that  Queen  Ann  style,  but  I  tell  'em  no  such 
squatty  things  for  me.  They  can  have  all  the  little  winder 
panes  and  stained  glass,  cart  loads  on't,  if  they  want ;  but 
I'll  have  the  rooms  big  and  high,  so  a  feller  won't  bump 
his  head.  Yes,  sir  !  I'm  in  for  a  smasher  !" 

And  he  built  "a  smasher"  on  the  site  of  the  old  house, 
behind  which  the  "  Lizy  Ann,"  or  what  there  was  left  of 
it,  was  lying  ;  and  when  the  house  was  done,  and  furnished 
with  the  most  gaudy  and  expensive  furniture  he  could  find 
in  Boston  and  New  York,  he  said  it  had  just  as  good  a 
right  to  a  name  as  anybody!  There  was  Tracy  Park,  and 
Grassy  Spring,  and  Brier  Hill,  and  Collingwood,  and  he'd 
be  dumbed  if  he'd  be  outdone  by  any  of  'em. 

"He'd  like  to  call  it  Lizy  Ann,"  he  said  to  Arthur, 
whom  he  met  one  day  in  the  park,  and  to  whom  he  began 
to  talk  of  his  new  house.  "  He'd  like  to  call  it  Lizy  Ann, 
arter  the  old  boat,  for  that  craft  was  the  beginnin'  of  his 
bein'  anybody  ;  but  May  Jane  and  Ann  'Liza  wouldn't  hear 
to 'it.  They  wanted  some  new-fangled  foreign  name  ;  could 
Mr.  Tracy  suggest  something  ?" 

"  How  would  '  Le  Bateau'  do  ?  It  is  the  French  for 
'  the  boat,'  and  might  cover  your  difficulty/'  Arthur  sug- 
gested. 

"  That's  jest  the  checker.  -  Lizy  Ann  with  a  new  name, 


22f  SHANNONDALE.  239 

Lub — lub — what    d'ye    call   her  ?"    Peterkin    said,    and 
Arthur  replied  : 
"  Le  Bateau." 

"  Yes,  yes — Lubber-toe  ;  that'll  suit  May  Jane  tip-top. 
Beats  all  what  high  notions  she's  got  !  Why,  I  don't  s'pose 
she  any  more  remembers  that  she  used  to  wash  Miss  Ather- 
ton's  stun  steps  than  you  remember  somethin'  that  never 
happened.  Do  you  ?" 

Arthur  thought  very  likely  that  she  did  not,  and  Peter- 
kin  went  on  : 

"  You  say  it  means  a  boat  in  French  ;  canal,  do  you 
s'pose  ?" 

Arthur  did  not  think  it  mattered  what  boat,  and  Peter- 
kin  continued  : 

"  Lubber-toe  !  Sounds  droll,  but  I  like  it.  I'll  see  an 
engraver  to-day,  but  how  do  you  spell  the  plaguy  thing  ?" 

Arthur  wrote  it  on  a  slip  of  paper,  which  he  handed 
Peterkin,  who  began  slowly  : 

"  L-e-le,  b-a-t-bat ;  le-bat.  Why,  what  in  thunder  ! 
That  ain't  Lubber-toe.  'Taint  no  thin' !" 

With  an  amused  smile  Arthur  explained  that  the  pro- 
nunciation of  French  words  had  very  little  to  do  with  the 
way  they  were  spelled ;  then,  very  carefully  pronouncing 
the  name  several  times,  and  making  Peterkin  repeat  it 
after  him,  he  said  good-by,  and  walked  away,  thinking  to 
himself : 

"  There  are  bigger  lunatics  outside  the  asylum  than 
I  am,  but  it  is  not  possible  the  fool  will  adopt  that 
name." 

But  the  fool  did.  May  Jane  approved,  and  Billy  did 
not  care,  provided  his  father  would  pronounce  it  right,  and 
so  in  less  than  a  week,  "  Le  Bateau  "  was  on  Peterkin's 
door-plate,  and  on  the  two  gate-posts  of  the  entrance  to 
his  grounds,  and  May  Jane's  visiting  cards  bore  the 
words : 

"  Mrs.  Peterkin.     Le  Bateau.    Fridays." 

She  had  her  days  now,  liko  Mrs.  Atherton,  and  Mrs. 
St.  Claire,  and  Mrs.  Tracy,  and  had  her  butler,  too,  and  her 
maid,  and  her  carriage;  and  after  the  house  was  finished, 
and  furnished  in  a  style  that  reminded  one  of  a  theatre, 
it  was  so  gorgeous  and  gay,  Peterkin  concluded  to  have  a 
coat  of  arms  for  his  carriage;  and  remembering  how  Arthur 


240  IF   SIIANNONDALE. 

» 

had  helped  him  in  a  former  dilemma  he  sought  him  again 
and  told  him  his  trouble. 

"That  Lubbertoo"  (he  called  it  too,  now)  "went  down 
like  hot  cakes,  and  was  just  the  thing,"  he  said,  "and  now 
I  want  some  picter  for  my  carriage  door  to  kinder  mark 
me,  and  show  who  I  am.  You  know  what  I  mean." 

Arthur  thought  a  puff-ball  would  represent  Peterkin 
better  than  any  thing  else,  but  he  replied  : 

"  Yes,  I  know.  You  want  a  coat  of  arms,  which  shall 
suggest  your  early  days — " 

"  When  I  was  a  flounderin'  to  get  up — jess  so,"  Peter- 
kin  interrupted  him.  "  You've  hit  it,  square.  Now  I'd 
like  a  picter  of  the  Lizy  Ann,  as  she  was,  but  May  Jane 
won't  hear  to't.  What  do  you  say,  square  ?" 

Arthur  tingled  to  his  finger  tips  at  this  familiarity  from 
a  man  whom  he  detested,  and  whom  he  would  like  to  turn 
from  his  door,  but  the  man  was  in  his  house  and  in  his  pri- 
vate room,  tilting  back  in  a  delicate  Swiss  chair,  which 
Arthur  expected  every  moment  to  see  broken  to  pieces,  and 
which  finally  did  go  down  with  a  crash  as  -the  burly  figure 
settled  itself  a  little  more  firmly  upon  the  frail  thing. 

"  I'll  be  dumbed  if  I  hain't  broke  it  all  to  shivers  !"  the 
terrified  Peterkin  exclaimed,  as  he  struggled  to  his  feet, 
and  looked  with  dismay  upon  the  debris.  "  What's  the 
damage  ?"  he  continued,  taking  out  his  pocket-book  and 
Ostentatiously  showing  a  fifty-dollar  bill. 

"  Money  cannot  replace  the  chair  which  once  adorned 
the  salon  of  Madame  De  Stael,"  Arthur  said.  "  Put  up 
your  purse,  but  for  Heaven's  sake,  never  again  tip  back  in 
your  chair.  It  is  a  vulgar  trick,  of  which  no  gentleman 
would  be  guilty." 

Ordinarily,  Peterkin  would  have  resented  language  like 
this,  but  he  was  just  now  too  anxious  to  curry  favor  with 
Arthur  to  show  any  anger,  and  he  answered,  meekly  : 

"  That's  so,  square,  Tain't  good  manners,  and  I 
know  it  as  well  as  the  next  one.  I'm  awful  sorry  about 
the  chair,  and  think  mebby  I  could  git  it  mended.  I'd 
like  to  try." 

"  Never  mind  the  chair,"  Arthur  said,  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture.  "  Try  another  and  a  stronger  one,  and  let's 
go  back  to  business.  You  want  a  painted  panel  for  your 
carriage.  How  will  this  do  ?"  and  he  rapidly  sketched  a 


IN  8HANNONDAL&  241 

green,  pleasant  meadow,  with  a  canal  running  through  it, 
and  on  the  canal  a  boat,  drawn  by  one  horse,  which  a  bare- 
foot, elfish-looking  boy  was  driving. 

"  I  swow,  square,  you're  a  trump,  you  be,"  Peterkin 
exclaimed,  slapping  him  on  the  back.  "You've  hit  it  to  a 
dot.  That's  the  Lizy  Ann,  and  that  there  boy  is  Bije 
Jones,  drivin'  the  old  spavin  boss.  You  or'to  hev  me  some- 
where in  sight,  cussin'  the  hands  as  I  generally  was,  and 
May  Jane  on  deck,  hangin'  her  clothes  to  dry.  Could  you 
manage  that  ?" 

Arthur  thought  he  could,  but  suggested  that  Mrs. 
Peterkin  might  not  like  to  be  made  so  conspicuous. 

"  Possibly  she  Avill  not  like  this  drawing  at  all.  She 
may  think  it  too  suggestive  of  other  days." 

"  That's  so, "  Peterkin  assented,  a  little  sadly,  "and  if 
she  don't  take  to  it,  the  old  Harry  can't  make  her.  She 
used  to  be  the  meekest  of  wives  them  days  she  dried  her 
clothes  on  the  Lizy  Ann,  but  she  don't  knock  under  wuth 
a  cent  sense  we  riz  in  the  world,  and  Ann  Lizy  is  wus  than 
her  mother.  But  I'll  show  this  to  the  old  woman  and  let 
you  know." 

May  Jane  did  not  approve,  neither  did  Billy.  No  use 
they  s.-iid,  to  Haunt  the  canal,  horse,  driver,  and  all  in  peo- 
ple's faces  ;  and  so  the  discomfited  Peterkin  went  to  Arthur 
again  and  told  him  "  the  fat  was  all  in  the  fire,  and  May 
Jane  on  a  rampage." 

"  Try  again,  square  ;  but  give  us  some  kind  of  water 
and  craft." 

So  Arthur  good  hnmoredly  changed  the  canal  into  a 
gracefully  flowing  river,  in  abend  of  which,  in  the  distance 
there  was  just  visible  a  boat,  which  was  a  cross  between  a 
gondola  and  one  of  those  little  dangerous  things  so  com- 
mon on  the  lakes  of  Wisconsin.  Standing  in  the  bow  of 
the  boat,  with  folded  anus,  as  if  calmly  contemplating  the 
scenery  was  the  figure  of  a  man — supposed  to  be  Peterkin — 
who  swore  "  he'd  keep  this  picter  in  spite  of  'em  ;"  and  as 
his  wife  did  not  seriously  object,  the  sketch  was  transferred 
in  oil  to  a  panel  and  inserted  in  the  carriage,  which,  when 
drawn  by  two  shining  bays  and  driven  by  a  colored  man  in 
lonu'  coat  and  tall  hat,  with  Peterkin  sitting  back  in  it  with 
all  the  prideand  pompoosness of  a  two-millionaire,  and  May 
Jane  at  his  side,  covered  with  diamonds,  attracted  general 

11 


£42  IN  SHANNONDAL&. 

attention  and  comment.  Billy  seldom  patronized  the  car- 
riage, but  frequently  rode  beside  it,  talking  to  his  mother, 
of  whom  he  was  very  fond,  and  taking  off  his  hat  to  every 
person  he  met,  whether  old  or  young,  rich  or  poor. 

"  Billy  is  an  idiot,  but  very  kind-hear  ted,"  people  said 
of  him,  and  in  truth  he  was  popular  with  everybody,  espec- 
ially the  men  in  his  father's  employ,  who  all  went  to  him 
for  favors,  or  for  an  increase  of  wages  ;  for  if  Billy  had  any 
business  it  was  in  his  father's  office,  where  he  pretended  to 
look  after  matters  and  keep  the  books  straight.  Such  had 
been  the  growth  of  Peterkin  during  the  past  ten  years. 
"  He  had  got  clean  to  the  front,"  he  said,  "and  was  hob-nob- 
bin'  with  Square  Harrenton,  and  Judge  St.  Claire,  and  the 
Tracys,"  all  of  whom  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  laughed 
at  him  in  secret,  but  treated  him  civilly  to  his  face  ;  for, 
deny  it  as  we  may,  money  has  a  mighty  power,  and  will 
open  many  a  door  which  nothing  else  could  move. 

"  Coarse  and  ignorant  as  a  horse,  but  not  so  bad  after 
all,"  was  what  people  said  of  him  now ;  and  in  fact  Peter- 
kin  had  improved  and  softened  a  good  deal  with  the  acces- 
sion of  wealth.  Nobody  gave  so  lavishly  to  everything,  as 
he  did,  while  to  his  employees  he  was  always  generous  and 
considerate.  Once  he  thought  to  join  the  church,  thinking 
that  would  add  to  his  respectability  ;  but  when  talked  with 
by  his  clergyman  he  showed  himself  so  lamentably  defi- 
cient in  every  necessary  qualification  that  he  was  advised  to 
wait  a  while,  which  he  did  ;  but  he  rented  the  most  expen- 
sive pew  and  carried  the  largest  prayer-book  of  any  one, 
and  read  the  loudest,  and  kept  his  head  down  the  longest, 
so  long,  indeed,  that  he  once  went  to  sleep,  and  had  quite 
a  little  nap  before  his  wife  nudged  him  and  told  him  to 
get  up. 

"  Good  Lord,  deliver  us  !"  was  his  ejaculation,  as  he 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  adjusting  his  glasses,  looked 
fiercely  round  at  the  amused  congregation. 

So  far  as  money  and  display  were  concerned,  the  St. 
Claires  and  Mrs.  Atherton  had  not  kept  up  with  Peterkin. 
On  the  contrary,  as  he  grew  into  society  they  gradually  with- 
drew, until  at  last  Dolly  Tracy  had  it  all  her  own  way  and 
looked  upon  herself  as  the  lady^ar  excellence  of  the  town. 
She  had  been  to  Europe.  She  had  seen  the  queen ;  she 
had  had  some  dresses  made  at  Worth's ;  she  had  picked  up 


a  few  French  words  which  she  used  on  all  occasions,  with 
but  little  regard  to  their  appropriateness.  She  had  decora- 
ted a  tea-set  and  was  as  unlike  the  Dolly  Tracy  whom  we 
first  knew,  as  a  person  well  could  be.  Every  thing  had  gone 
well  with  her,  and  scarcely  a  sorrow  had  touched  her,  for 
though  poor,  stupid  Jack  had  slept  for  five  years  in  the 
Tracy  lot  with  only  the  woman  of  the  Tramp  House  for 
company,  he  was  so  near  an  imbecile  when  he  died,  that 
his  death  was  a  blessing  rather  than  otherwise.  Tom,  with 
his  fine  figure,  his  fastidious  tastes,  and  aristocratic  notions, 
was  the  apple  of  her  eye,  and  tout-a-fait  au  fait,  she 
said,  when  her  French  fever  was  at  its  height  and  she 
wished  to  impress  her  hearers  with  her  knowledge  of  the 
language;  while,  except  for  her  ill- health.,  and  the  bad 
taste  she  manifested  in  her  liking  for  Harold's  society, 
Maude  was  tout-a-fait  au  fait,  too.  She  had  no  dread  of 
Gretchen,  now  ;  even  Arthur  had  ceased  to  talk  of  her,  and 
was  as  a  rule  very  quiet  and  contented. 

Only  her  husband  troubled  her,  for  with  the  passing 
years  his  silence  and  abstraction  had  increased,  until  now  it 
was  nothing  remarkable  for  him  to  go  days  without  speak- 
ing to  anyone  unless  he  were  first  spoken  to.  His  hair  was 
white  as  snow  which  made  him  look  years  older  than  he 
really  was,  while  the  habit  he  had  of  always  walking  with 
his  head  down  added  to  his  apparent  years. 

During  the  time  Maude  was  in  Europe  he  grew  old 
very  fast,  for  Maude  was  all  that  made  life  endurable.  To 
see  her  in  her  young  beauty  flitting  about  the  house  and 
grounds  like  a  bright  bird,  whose  nest  is  high  up  in  some 
sheltered  spot  where  the  storms  never  come,  was  some  com- 
pensation for  what  he  had  done  ;  but  when  she  was  gone 
there  came  over  him  such  a  sense  of  loneliness  and  desola- 
tion that  at  times  he  feared  lest  he  should  become  crazier 
than  his  brother,  who  really  appeared  to  be  improving, 
although  the  strange  forgetfulfless  of  past  events  still  clung 
to  and  increased  upon  him.  He  did  not  now  remember 
ever  to  have  said  that  Gretchen  was  with  him  in  the  ship 
or  on  the  train,  or  that  he  had  sent  the  carriage  so  many 
times  to  meet  her  ;  and  when  he  spoke  of  her,  which  he 
seldom  did  to  any  one  except  to  Jerrie,  it  was  as  of  one 
who  had  died  years  ago.  Occasionally,  in  the  winter,  when 
a  wild  storm  was  raging  like  that  which  had  shaken  the 


244  IN  SltANNOlWALti. 

house  and  bent  the  evergreens  the  night  Jerrie  came,  he 
would  tie  a  knot  of  crape  upon  the  picture,  but  would 
give  no  reason  for  it  when  questioned  except  to  say,  "  Can't 
you  see  it  is  a  badge  of  mourning  ?" 

For  a  week  or  more  it  would  remain  there,  and  then  he 
would  put  it  carefully  away,  to  be  again  brought  out  when 
the  night  was  wild  and  stormy. 

It  was  during  Maude's  absence  that  the  two  brothers 
became  more  intimate  than  they  had  been  before  since 
Arthur  first  came  home,  and  it  happened  in  this  wise. 
Every  day,  for  months  after  Maude  and  his  wife  went  away, 
Frank  spent  hours  alone  in  his  private  room,  sometimes 
doing  nothing,  but  oftener  looking  at  the  photograph  of 
Gretchen  and  the  Bible  with  the  marked  passages  and  the 
handwriting  around  it.  Then  he  would  take  out  the  letter 
about  which  Jerrie  had  been  so  anxious,  and  examine  it 
carefully,  studying  the  address,  which  he  knew  by  heart, 
and  beginning  at  last  to  arrange  the  letters  in  alphabetical 
order  as  far  as  he  could,  and  to  try  to  imitate  them.  It 
was  a  difficult  process,  but  little  by  little,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  a  German  text-book  of  Maude's  which  he  found,  he 
learned  the  alphabet,  and  began  to  form  words,  then  to  put 
them  together,  and  then  to  read.  Gradually,  the  Avork 
began  to  have  a  great  fascination  for  him,  and  he  Avent  to 
Arthur  one  day  and  asked  for  some  assistance. 

"  Never  too  old  to  learn,"  he  said,  "  and  as  the  house  is 
like  a  tomb  without  Maude,  I  have  actually  taken  up  Ger- 
man, but  find  it  up-hill  business  without  a  teacher.  Will 
you  help  me  ?" 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  Arthur  cried,  brightening  up 
at  once,  and  bringing  out  on  the  instant  such  a  pile  of 
books  as  appalled  Frank  and  made  him  wish  to  Avithdraw 
his  proposition. 

But  Arthur  was  eager,  and  persistent,  and  patient,  and 
had  never  respected  his  brottier  one  half  as  much  as  when 
he  was  stammering  over  the  German  pronunciation,  Avhich 
he  could  not  Avell  master.  But  he  learned  to  read  with  a  tol- 
erable degree  of  fluency,  and  to  speak  a  little,  too,  while 
he  could  understand  nearly  all  Arthur  said  to  him. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  get  along  in  Germany  ?"  he 
asked  his  brother  one  day. 

"  Certainly,  you  could,"  Arthur  replied.   ' '  Are  you  going 


IN    SUANXONDALE.  245 

there  ?  If  you  do,  go  to  Weisbaden,  and  inquire  for 
Gretchcn — bow  sbe  died,  and  where  sbe  is  buried.  I  sbould 
luive  gone  long  ago,  only  I  dreaded  the  ocean  voyage  so 
confoundedly,  and  then  I  forget  so  badly.  When  are  you 
going  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  as  ever/'  Frank  answered  quickly  , 
and  yet  in  his  heart  there  was  the  firm  resolve  to  go  to 
Weisbaden  and  hunt  up  Marguerite  Heinrich's  friends,  if 
possible. 

"  And  if  I  find  them,  and  find  my  suspicions  correct, 
what  shall  I  do  then '?"  he  asked  himself  over  and  over 
again;  and  once  made  answer  to  his  question:  "I  will 
either  make  restitution,  or  drown  myself  in  the  Rhine/' 

Jen  ie  was  a  constant  source  of  misery  to  Frank,  and 
yet  when  she  was  at  home  he  was  always  managing  to  have 
her  at  the  park  house,  where  he  could  see  her,  and  wdeh 
IHT,  as  she  moved  like  a  young  queen  through  the  hand- 
some rooms,  or  frolicked  with  Maude  upon  the  lawn. 

•  she  is  surely  Gretcheu's  daughter,  and  Arthur's,  too/' 
he  would  say  to  himself,  as  he,  too,  detected  in  her  face  the 
likeness  to  his  brother,  which  had  so  startled  Jerri e  in  the 
mirror. 

He  was  always  exceedingly  kind  to  her,  and  almost  as 
proud  of  her  success  at  Vassar  as  Arthur  himself;  and  on 
the  day  when  she  was  expected  home  he  went  two  or  three 
times  to  the  cottage  in  the  lane,  carrying  fruit  and  flowers, 
and  even  offering  things  more  substantial,  which,  however, 
were  promptly  declined  by  Mrs.  Crawford,  who  had  signi- 
fied her  intention  to  take  nothing  more  for  J  erne's 
board. 

"  The  girl  pays  for  herself,  or  will/'  she  said,  "and  it  is 
llarold's  wish  and  mine  to  be  independent." 

But  she  accepted  the  fruit  and  the  flowers,  and  wondered  a 
little  to  see  Frank  so  excited,  and  nervous,  and  anxious  that 
everything  should  be  done  to  make  Jerrie's  final  home- 
coming as  pleasant  as  possible. 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  when  the  young  ladies  from 
Vassar  were  expected,  but  the  train  was  half  an  hour  late, 
and  the  carnage  from  Grassy  Spring,  and  the  carriage  from 
Le  Bateau  had  waited  so  long  that  both  coachmen  were. 
asleep  upon  their  respective  boxes,  when  at  last  the  whistle 
was  heard  among  the  hills  telling  that  the  cars  were  com- 


246  IN   SHANNONDALE. 

ing.  The  Tracy  carriage  was  not  there,  though  twenty 
minutes  before  train  time  Maude  had  come  down  in  the 
Victoria  and  on  learning  of  the  delay  had  been  driven  rap- 
idly to  the  cottage  in  the  lane  from  which  she  had  not 
returned  when  at  last  the  cars  stopped  before  the  station 
and  the  young  people  alighted  upon  the  platform,  which, 
with  their  luggage,  seemed  at  once  to  be  full. 

"  Your  checks,  miss,"  the  coachman  from  Grassy  Spring 
said  to  Nina,  as  he  touched  his  hat  respectfully  to  her,  and 
his  words  were  repeated  to  Ann  Eliza  by  the  servant  from 
Le  Bateau. 

But  Jerrie  held  hers  in  her  hand  with  a  rueful  look  of 
disappointment  on  her  face  as  she  looked  in  vain  for  Har- 
old or  Maude  to  greet  her.  For  a  single  moment  the  dif- 
ference between  her  position  and  that  of  Nina  and  Ann 
Eliza  struck  her  like  a  blow,  and  she  thought  to  herself: 

"  For  them,  everything;  for  me,  nothing." 

Then  she  rallied,  and  passing  her  checks  to  the  bag- 
gage master,  said  to  him: 

"  If  there  is  a  boy  here  with  a  cart  or  a  wheelbarrow, 
1st  him  take  my  trunks,  otherwise,  send  them  by  express, 
1  see  there  is  no  one  to  meet  me." 

"  Yes'm,  but  they's  comin',"  the  man  replied,  with  a 
significant  nod  in  the  direction  where  a  cloud  of  dust  was 
visible,  as  the  Tracy  Victoria  came  rapidly  up  to  the  sta- 
tion, with  Maude  and  Harold  in  it. 

The  former  was  standing  up  and  waving  her  parasol  to 
the  party  upon  the  platform,  while,  almost  before  the  car- 
riage stopped,  Harold  sprang  out,  and  had  both  of  Jerrie's 
hands  in  his,  and  held  them,  as  he  told  her  how  glad  he 
was  to  welcome  her  home  again.  He  looked  tired  and 
flurried,  and  did  not  seem  quite  himself,  but  there  could 
be  no  doubt  that  he  was  glad,  for  the  gladness  shone  in  his 
eyes  and  in  his  face,  and  Jerrie  felt  it  in  the  warm  clasp  of 
his  hands,  which  she  noticed  with  a  pang  were  brown,  and 
calloused,  and  bruised  in  some  places,  as  if  they  had  of 
late  been  used  to  harder  toil  than  usual.  But  she  had  not 
much  time  for  thought  before  Maude's  arms  were  around 
her  neck  and  Maude  was  standing  on  tiptoe  and  drawing 
down  her  face,  which  she  covered  with  kisses  ;  and,  between 
laughing  and  crying,  exclaimed: 

(<  You  darling  old  Jerrie  !  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you 


12f   SHANNONDALE.  247 

again  !  and  how  tall  and  grand  you  have  grown  !  Why,  I 
don't  much  more  than  come  to  your  shoulder.  See,  Har- 
old, ho\v  Jerrie  outshines  me  ;"  and  she  lifted  her  sparkling 
face  to  Harold,  who  looked  down  at  her  as  a  brother  might 
have  looked  at  an  only  sister  of  whom  he  was  very  fond. 

How  pretty  and  piquant  she  was,  with  her  brilliant 
complexion  and  her  black  eyes,  and  how  stylish  she  looked 
in  the  Paris  gown  of  embroidered  linen,  which  fitted  her 
perfectly,  and  the  big  hat,  which  turned  up  just  enough 
on  the  side  to  give  her  a  saucy,  coquettish  air,  as  she  flit- 
ted from  one  to  another,  kissing  Nina  twice,  Ann  Eliza 
once,  and  shaking  hands  with  all  the  young  men  except 
Tom,  who  put  his  in  his  pockets,  out  of  her  way. 

He  could  not  stand  Maude's  gush,  he  said,  and  he 
watched  her  with  a  half  sneering  smile  as  she  tiptoed 
around,  for  it  always  seemed  as  if  she  walked  upon  her  toes, 
CQurtseying  as  she  walked. 

"  I  meant  to  have  been  here  before  the  train/'  she  said 
to  Jerrie,  "  and  I  was  here  about  an  hour  ago  ;  but  when  I 
found  the  cars  were  late,  I  drove  over  to  tell  Harold  as 
time  with  him  was  everything.  How  we  did  drive,  though, 
when  we  heard  the  whistle.  Come,  jump  in,"  she  contin- 
ued, as  she  herself  stepped  into  the  Victoria.  "  Jump  in, 
and  I  will  take  you  home  in  a  jiffy.  It  won't  hurt  Hal  to 
walk,  although  he  is  awful  tired." 

"But  I  would  rather  walk  ;  take  Harold,  if  he  is  so 
tired,"  Jerrie  said,  in  a  tone  she  did  not  quite  intend. 

"  Oh,  Jerrie,"  Harold  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  pained 
voice,  "  I  am  not  tired  ;  let  us  both  walk  ;"  and  going  to 
Maude,  he  said  something  to  her  which  Jerrie  could  not 
hear,  except  the  words,  "  Don't  you  think  it  better  so  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do  ;  it  was  stupid  in  me  not  to  see  it 
before,"  was  Maude's  reply,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  Har- 
old's arm,  where  it  rested  a  moment,  while  she  said  her 
good-bys. 

And  Jerrie  saw  the  little,  ungloved  hand  touching  Har- 
old so  familiarly,  and  thought  how  small,  and  white,  and 
thin  it  was,  with  the  full  blue  veins  showing  eo  distinctly 
upon  it,  and  then  she  looked  more  closely  at  Maude  her- 
self, and  saw  with  a  pang,  how  sick  she  looked  in  spite  of 
the  bright  color  in  her  cheeks,  which  came  and  went  so 
fast.  There  was  a  pallor  about  her  lips  and  about  her  nose, 


248  UV    SHANNONDALE. 

while  her  ears  were  almost  transparent,  and  her  neck  was 
BO  small  that  Jerrie  felt  she  could  have  clasped  it  with  one 
hand. 

"  Maude,"  she  cried,  pressing  close  to  the  young  girl, 
as  Harold  stepped  aside,  "  Maude,  are  you  ill  ?  You  are 
pale  everywhere  except  your  cheeks,  which  are  like  roses/' 

"No,  no,"  Maude  answered,  quickly,  as  if  she  did  not 
like  the  question.  "  Not  sick  a  bit,  only  a  little  tired.  We 
have  been  at  work  real  hard,  Hal  and  I ;  but  he  will  tell 
you  about  it,  and  now  good-by  again,  for  I  must  go.  I 
shall  be  round  in  the  morning.  Good-by.  Ob,  Tom,  I 
forgot !  We  have  company  to  dinner  to-night — a  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hart,  who  are  friends  of  Mrs.  Atherton,  and  have  just 
returned  from  Germany,  bringing  Fred's  sister,  Marian, 
with  them.  She  has  been  abroad  at  school  for  years,  and 
is  very  nice.  I  ought  to  have  told  Fred  and  Nina.  How 
stupid  in  me  !  But  they  will  find  their  invitations  when 
they  get  home.  Now  hop  in,  quick,  and  don't  tear  my 
flounces.  You  are  so  awkward  I" 

"  I  suppose  Hal  never  tears  your  flounces,"  Tom  said, 
as  he  took  his  seat  beside  his  sister,  and  gave  Jerrie  a  look 
which  sent  the  blood  in  great  waves  to  her  face  and  neck, 
for  it  seemed  to  imply  that  he  understood  the  case  and  sup- 
posed that  she  did,  too. 

"  The  St.  Claire  carriage  had  driven  away  with  Nina, 
and  Dick,  and  Fred,  and  the  carriage  from  Le  Bateau  had 
gone,  too,  when  at  last  Jerrie  and  Harold  started  down  the 
road  and  along  the  highway  to  the  gate  through  which  the 
strange  woman  had  once  passed  with  the  baby  Jerrie  in  her 
arms.  The  baby  was  a  young  woman  now,  tall  and  erect, 
with  her  head  set  high  as  she  walked  silently  by  Harold's 
side,  until  the  gate  was  reached  and  they  passed  into  the 
shaded  lane,  where  they  were  hidden  from  the  sight  of 
any  one  upon  the  main  road  leading  to  the  park  house. 
Then,  stopping  suddenly,  she  faced  squarely  toward  her 
companion,  and  said: 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  commencement  ?  Tom 
Tracy  said  you  were  shingling  a  roof,  and  Billy  Peterkin 
said  Maude  was  helping  you/' 


WUT    HAROLD    DID    NOT    GO.  249 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

WHY  HAKOLD  DID   NOT  GO   TO  VASSAR. 

cottage  in  the  lane  was  not  very  pretentious,  and 
all  its  rooms  were  small  and  low  and  upon  the  ground 
floor,  except  the  one  which  Jerrie  had  occupied  since  she 
had  grown  too  large  for  the  crib  by  Mrs.  Crawford's  bed. 
Iii  this  room,  in  which  there  was  but  one  window,  Jerrie 
kept  all  her  possessions — her  playthings  and  her  books,  and 
the  trunk  and  carpet-bag  which  had  been  found  with  her. 
Here  she  had  cut  off  her  hair  and  slept  on  the  floor,  to  see 
how  it  would  seem,  and  here  she  had  enacted  many  a  play, 
in  which  the  scenes  and  characters  were  all  of  the  past. 
For  the  cold  in  winter  she  did  not  care  at  all,  and  when  in 
summer  the  nights  were  close  and  hot,  she  drew  her  little 
lx- 1  to  the  open  window  and  fell  asleep  while  thinking  how 
warm  she  was.  That  she  ought  to  have  a  better  room 
never  occurred  to  her,  and  never  had  she  found  a  word  of 
fault  or  repined  at  her  humble  surroundings,  so  different 
from  those  of  her  girl  friends.  Only,  as  she  grew  taller, 
she  had  .sometimes  laughingly  said  that  if  she  kept  on  she 
should  not  much  longer  be  able  to  stand  upright  in  her 
den,  as  she  called  it. 

"  I  hit  my  head  now  everywhere  except  in  the  middle," 
she  once  said.  "I  wonder  if  we  can't  some  time  manage 
to  r;:ise  the  roof." 

The  words  were  spoken  thoughtlessly,  and  almost 
immediately  forgotten  by  Jerrie ;  but  Harold  treasured 
th'-iii  up,  and  began  at  once  to  devise  ways  and  means  to 
raise  the  roof  and  give  Jerrie  a  room  more  worthy  of  her. 
This  was  just  s'fter  he  had  left  college,  and  there  was  hang- 
ing o\vr  him  his  debt  to  Arthur  and  the  support  of  his 
grandmother.  The  first  did  not  particularly  disturb  him, 
for  he  knew  that  Arthur  would  wait  any  length  of  time, 
while  the  latter  seemed  but  a  trifle  to  a  strong,  robust 
young  man.  .Mrs.  Crawford  was  naturally  very  economi- 
cal, and  could  make  one  dollar  go  farther  than  most  peoplo 
11 


250  WEI    HAROLD    DID    NOT 

could  two  ;  so  that  very  little  sufficed  for  their  daily  wants 
when  Jerrie  was  away. 

"  I  must  earn  money  somehow/' Harold  thought,  "and 
musr,  seek  work  where  I  can  do  the  best,  even  if  it  is  from 
Peterkin." 

So,  swallowing  his  pride,  he  went  to  Peterkin's  office 
and  asked  for  work.  Once  before,  when  a  boy  of  eighteen, 
and  sorely  pressed,  he  had  done  the  same  thing,  and  met 
with  a  rebuff  from  the  foreman,  who  said  to  him,  gruffly  : 

"  No,  sir  ;  we  don't  want  no  more  boys ;  leastwise,  gen- 
tlemen boys.  We've  had  enough  of  'em.  Try  t'other  fur- 
nace. Mr.  Warner  is  allus  takin'  all  kinds  of  trash,  out  of 
pity." 

But  the  Warner  factory,  where  Harold  had  once 
worked,  was  full  of  boys,  whom  the  kind-hearted  employer 
had  taken  in,  and  there  was  no  place  for  Harold.  So  he 
waited  awhile  until  Jerrie  needed  a  new  dress  and  his 
grandmother  a  bonnet,  and  then  he  tried  Peterkin  again, 
and  this  time  with  success. 

"  Yes,  take  him,"  Peterkin  said  to  his  foreman  ;  "take 
him,  and  put  him  to  the  emery  wheel ;  that's  the  place  for 
such  up.starts;  that'll  take  the  starch  out  of  him  double 
quick.  He's  a  bad  egg,  he  is,  and  proud  as  Lucifer.  I 
don't  suppose  he'd  touch  my  Bill  or  my  Ann  Lizy  with  a 
ten- foot  pole.  Put  him  to  the  wheel.  Bad  egg  !  bad  agg  !" 

Peterkin  had  a  bitter  prejudice  against  the  boy,  on 
whose  account  he  had  once  been  turned  from  the  Tracy 
house  ;  and  though  he  had  forgiven  the  Tracys,  and  would 
now  have  voted  for  Frank  for  Congressman  if  he  had  the 
chance,  he  still  cherished  his  animosity  against  Harold, 
designating  him  as  an  upstart  and  a  bad  egg,  who  was  to  be 
put  to  the  wheel ;  and  Harold  was  "  put  to  the  wheel " 
until  he  got  a  bit  of  steel  in  his  eye,  and  his  hands  were  cut 
and  blistered.  But  ho  did  not  mind  the  latter  so  much, 
because  Jerrie  cried  over  them  at  night  and  kissed  them  in 
the  morning,  and  bathed  them  in  cosinoline,  and  called 
Peterkin  a  mean  old  thing,  and  offered  to  go  herself  to  the 
wheel. 

But  to  this  Harold-  only  laughed.  He  could  stand  it, 
he  said,  and  a  dollar  a  clay  was  not  to  be  lost.  He  could 
wear  gloves  and  save  his  hands. 

But  the  appearance  of  gloves  was  the  signal  for  a  gen- 


GO    TO     VASSAR.  251 

eral  hooting  and  jeering  from  the  boys  of  his  own  age,  who 
were  employed  there,  and  who  had  from  the  first  looked 
askance  at  Harold,  because  they  knew  how  greatly  he  was 
their  superior,  and  fancied  an  affront  in  everything  he  did 
and  every  word  he  said,  it  was  spoken  so  differently  from 
their  own  dialect. 

"  I  can't  stand  it,"  Harold  said  to  Jerrie,  after  a  week's 
trial  with  the  gloves.  "  I'd  rather  sweep  the  streets  than 
be  jeered  at  as  I  am.  I  don't  mind  the  work.  I  am  get- 
ting used  to  it,  but  the  boys  are  awful.  Why,  they  call  mj 
'  sissy,'  and  '  Miea  Hastings,'  and  all  thafc." 

So  Harold  left  the  employ  of  Peter  kin,  greatly  to  the 
chagrin  of  that  functionary,  who  had  found  him  the  most 
faithful  boy  he  had  ever  had.  But  this  was  ygars  ago,  and 
matters  had  changed  somewhat  since  then.  Harold  was  a 
man  now — a  graduate  from  Harvard,  with  an  air  and  dig- 
nity about  him  which  commanded  respect  even  from  Peter- 
kin,  who  was  sitting  upon  his  high  stool  when  Harold  came 
in  with  his  application.  Billy,  who  was  Harold's  fast 
friend,  was  now  in  the  business  with  his  father,  and  as  he 
chanced  to  be  present,  the  thing  was  soon  arranged,  and 
Harold  received  into  the  office  at  a  salary  of  twelve  dollars 
per  week,  which  was  soon  increased  to  fifteen  and  twenty, 
and  at  last,  as  the  autumn  advanced  and  Harold  began  to 
talk  of  taking  the  same  school  in  town  which  he  had  once 
before  taught,  ho  was  offered  $1.500  a  year,  if  he  would 
remain,  as  foreman  of  the  office,  where  his  services  were 
invaluable.  But  Harold  had  chosen  the  law  for  his  profes- 
sion, and  as  teaching  school  was  more  congenial  to  him 
than  writing  in  the  office,  and  would  give  him  more  time 
for  reading  law,  he  declined  the  salary  and  took  the  school, 
which  he  kept  for  two  successive  winters,  going  between 
times  into  the  office  whenever  his  services  were  needed, 
which  was  very  often,  as  they  knew  his  worth,  and  Billy 
was  always  glad  to  have  him  there. 

In  this  way  he  managed  to  lay  aside  quite  a  little  sum 
of  money,  besides  paying  his  interest  to  Arthur,  and  when 
Maude  came  home  from  Europe  in  March  he  felt  himself 
warranted  in  beginning  to  raise  the  roof.  He  was  natu- 
rally a  mechanic,  and  would  have  made  a  splendid  carpen- 
ter ;  he  was  also  something  of  an  architect,  and  sketched 
upon  paper  the  changes  he  proposed  making.  The  roof 


252  WHY    HAROLD    DID    NOT 

was  to  be  raised  over  Jerrie's  room  ;  there  was  to  be  a 
pretty  bay-window  at  the  south,  commanding  a  view  of  the 
Collingwood  grounds  and  the  river.  There  was  to  be 
another  window  on  a  side,  but  whether  to  the  east  or  the 
west  he  could  not  quite  decide.  There  was  to  be  a  dressing- 
room  and  large  closet,  while  the  main  room  was  to  be  car- 
ried up  in  the  center,  after  the  fashion  of  a  church,  and  to 
be  ceiled  with  narrow  strips  of  wood  painted  alternately 
with  a  pale  blue  and  gray.  He  showed  the  sketch  to  his 
grandmother,  who  approved  it,  just  as  she  approved  every- 
thing he  did,  but  suggested  that  he  submit  it  to  Maude 
Tracy,  who,  she  heard,  h;id  become  an  artist  and  had  a 
studio  ;  so  he  took  the  plan  to  Maude,  explaining  it  to 
her,  and  saying  it  was  to  be  a  surprise  to  Jerrie,  when  she 
came  home  for  good  in  the  summer.  Maude  was  interested 
and  enthusiastic  at  once,  and  entered  heart  and  soul  into 
the  matter,  making  some  suggestions  which  Harold  adop- 
ted, and  deciding  for  him  where  the  extra  window  was  to 
be  placed. 

"Put  it  to  the  east,"  she  said,  "for  Jerrie  is  always 
looking  toward  the  rising  sun,  because,  she  says,  her  old 
home  is  that  way.  And,  besides,  she  can  see  the  Tramp 
House  she  is  so  fond  of.  For  my  part,  I  think  it  a  poky 
place,  and  never  like  to  pass  it  after  dark,  lest  I  should  see 
the  woman  standing  in  the  door,  with  the  candle  in  her 
hand,  crying  for  help.  Where  was  Jerrie  then,  I  wonder  ! 
Wouldn't  that  make  a  very  effective  picture  ?  The  storm, 
the  open  door,  the  frantic  woman  in  it,  with  the  candle 
held  high  over  her  head,  and  Jerrie  clutching  her  dress 
behind,  with  her  great  blue  eyes  staring  out  in  the  dark- 
ness. That  is  the  way  I  have  always  seen  it.  I  mean  to 
paint  the  picture,  and  hang  it  in  the  new  room  as  another 
surprise  to  Jerrie." 

"Oh,  don't  !"  Harold  said  with  a  shudder.  "Jerrie 
would  not  like  it.  It  almost  killed  her  when  she  first  knew 
of  the  cry  which  Mr.  Arthur  heard  and  the  light  I  saw 
that  night.  She  insisted  upon  knowing  everything  there 
was  to  know ;  and  when  I  told  her  all  the  color  left  her 
face,  and  for  a  moment  she  sat  rigid  as  a  stone,  with  a  look 
I  shall  never  forget,  and  then  she  cried  as  I  never  saw  any 
body  cry  before.  This  was  three  years  ago,  and  she  has 
never  spoken  to  me  of  it  since." 


GO    TO     VA8SAR.  253 

Harold's  voice  trembled  as  lie  talked,  while  Maude  cried 
outright.  The  idea  of  the  picture  was  given  up,  and  she 
went  back  to  the  subject  of  the  new  room  in  which  she 
seemed  quite  as  much  interested  as  Harold  himself.  AY  hen 
the  roof  was  raised,  and  the  floor  laid,  and  the  frame-work 
of  the  bay-window  up,  she  went  nearly  every  day  to  the  cot- 
tage to  watch  the  progress  of  the  work,  and  to  keep  Har- 
old's one  hired  man  up  to  the  mark,  if  he  showed  the  least 
sign  of  lagging. 

"  She  is  wus  than  a  slave-driver,"  the  man  said  to  Har- 
old one  day.  "  Why,  if  I  ever  stop  to  take  a  chaw,  or  rest 
my  bones  a  bit,  she's  after  me  in  a  jiffy,  and  asks  if  I  don't 
think  I  can  get  so  much  done  in  an  hour  if  I  work  as  tight 
as  J  can  clip  it.  I  was  never  so  druv  in  my  life." 

And  yet  both  the  man  and  Harold  liked  to  see  the  little 
lady  there,  walking  through  the  shavings,  aud  holding 
high  her  dainty  skirts  as  she  clambered  over  piles  of  boards 
anil  shingles,  or  perching  herself  on  the  work  bench,  super- 
intended them  both,  and  twice  b}r  her  intervention  saved  a 
door  from  swinging  the  wrong  way,  and  from  being  a  little 
askew. 

Frank,  too,  was  almost  as  much  interested  in  the  work 
u>  Maude  was,  and  once  offered  his  services,  as  did  Dick 
St.  Claire  and  Billy  Pcterkin. 

••  That's  splendid.  We'll  have  a  bee,  and  get  a  lot 
done,"  Maude  said  ;  and  she  pressed  into  the  bee  her  father, 
and  Dick,  and  Billy,  and  Fred  Raymond,  and  Tom,  the 
latter  of  whom  did  nothing  but  find  fault,  saying  that  the 
ceiling  ought  to  have  been  of  different  woods,  the  floor 
inlaid,  and  the  tops  of  the  windows  cathedral  g! 

"  And  I  suppose  you  will  find  the  money  for  all  that 
elegance,"  Maude  said,  as  she  held  one  end  of  a  board  for 
Harold  to  nail.  "  We  are  cutting  our  garment  according 
to  the  cloth,  and  if  you  don't  like  it  you'd  better  go  away. 
\Yc  do  not  want  any  drones  in  the  hive,  do  we,  Hally  ?" 

She  had  taken  to  addressing  him  thus  familiarly  since 
they  had  commenced  their  carpenter  work  together,  and 
Harold  smiled  brightly  upon  her  as  upon  a  child  as  she 
stood  on  tiptoe  at  his  side. 

Tom  went  away,  but  he  soon  came  back  again ;  for 
there  was  for  him  a  peculiar  fascination  about  this  room  for 
Jerrie,  arid  sitting  down  upon  a  saw-horse,  he  looked  on, 


254  WHY    HAROLD    DID    NOT 

and  whittled,  and  smoked,  while  Dick  blistered  his  hands, 
and  Fred  raised  a  blood-blister  by  striking  his  finger  with 
the  hammer,  and  Billy  ran  a  huge  splinter  under  his  thumb 
nail. 

Then  they  all  went  away,  and  Harold  was  left  alone,  for 
his  man  had  been  obliged  to  leave,  and  thus  the  finishing 
up  devolved  upon  him.  But  he  was  equal  to  it.  The 
worst  was  over,  and  all  that  was  now  required  was  hard 
and  constant  work  if  he  would  accomplish  it  in  time  to  see 
Jerrie  graduated,  as  he  greatly  wished  to  do,  provided  he 
should  have  money  enough  left  for  the  trip  when  every- 
thing was  paid  for. 

But  whoever  has  repaired  an  old  house  does  not  need  to 
be  told  tli at  the  cost  is  always  greater  than  was  anticipated, 
and  that  there  are  a  thousand  difficulties  which  beset  the 
unwary  workman  and  hinder  his  progress.  And  Harold 
found  it  so.  Still  he  worked  on,  early  and  late,  taking  no 
rest  except  for  an  hour  or  so  in  the  afternoon,  when  he 
found  it  a  very  pleasant  change  to  walk  through  the  leafy 
woods,  so  full  of  summer  life  and  beauty,  to  where  Maude 
waited  for  him,  with  her  sunny  face  and  bright  smile, 
which  always  grew  brighter  at  his  coming.  How  could  he 
know  what  was  in  her  mind  ? — he,  who  never  dreamed  it 
possible  that  she,  of  all  other  girls,  could  fall  in  love  with 
him. 

That  Maude  liked  him,  he  was  sure  ;  but  he  supposed  it 
was  mostly  for  the  amusement  he  afforded  her,  and  for  the 
sake  of  Jerrie,  of  whom  she  was  never  tired  of  talking. 
Maude's  friendship  was  very  sweet  to  the  young  man,  who 
had  8,0  few  means  of  enjoyment,  and  whose  life  was  one  of 
toil  and  care  ;  and  he  went  blindly  toward  the  pitfall  in  the 
distance,  and  began  to  look  forward  with  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure  to  the  readings  or  talks  with  Maude,  even  though 
he  did  not  find  her  very  intellectual.  She  amused  and 
rested  him,  and  that  was  something  to  the  tired  and  over- 
worked man. 

The  room  was  finished  inside  at  last,  and  looked  exceed- 
ingly cool  and  pretty  in  its  dress  of  blue  and  gray,  and  its 
two  rows  of  colored  glass  in  each  window  ;  for  Harold  had 
carried  out  Tom's  suggestion  in  that  respect,  and  by  going 
without  a  new  hat  and  a  pair  of  pants,  which  he  needed, 
had  managed  to  get  the  glass,  which  he  set  himself ;  for,  as 


00    TO     VASSAR.  255 

he  said  to  Maude,  who  assisted  him  in  the  matching  and 
arrangement,  he  was  a  kind  of  jack-at-all-trades.  Maude 
had  also  helped  him  to  putty  up  the  nail-holes,  and  had 
tried  her  hand  at  painting,  until  it  gave  her  a  sick-head- 
ache, and  she  was  obliged  to  quit. 

When  Arthur  first  heard  of  the  raised  roof,  he  went 
down  to  see  it,  and  approving  of  everything  which  had  thus 
far  been  done,  insisted  upon  furnishing  the  room  himself. 
But  Harold  refused,  saying  decidedly  that  it  was  his  own 
surprise  for  Jerrie,  and  no  one  must  help  him.  So  Arthur 
went  away,  and  told  Maude  confidentially  that  the  young 
man  Hastings  was  made  of  the  right  kind  of  stuff,  that  he 
liked  his  independence,  and  that,  although  he  should  allow 
him  to  pay  his  debt,  he  should  deposit  the  money  as  fast  as 
received  to  his  credit  in  the  savings  bank,  so  that  he  would 
eventually  get  it  all. 

"  You  are  the  darlingest  uncle  in  the  world  I"  Maude 
said,  rubbing  her  soft  cheek  against  his,  in  that  purring 
way  many  men  like,  and  which  made  Arthur  kiss  her,  and 
tell  her  she  was  a  little  simpleton,  but  rather  nice  on  the 
whole. 

"  And  you'll  not  tell  Jerrie  a  word  about  the  room  I" 
Maude  charged  him,  again  and  again  before  he  went  to 
Vassar. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it/'  was  his  reply,  although,  as  the 
reader  knows,  he  came  near  letting  it  out  twice,  but  held 
on  in  time,  so  that  the  raised  roof  was  still  a  secret  from 
Jerrie  when  she  reached  the  station  and  was  met  by  Maude 
and  Harold. 

The  room  was  all  ready,  with  its  pretty  carpet  of  blue 
and  drab,  and  a  delicate  shading  of  pink  in  it ;  its  cottage 
furniture  simple,  but  suitable;  its  muslin  curtains,  and 
chintz-covered  lounge,  and  the  willow  chair  and  round  table, 
which  Maude  had  insisted  upon  buying.  She  would  have 
some  part  in  furnishing  the  room,  she  said,  and  Harold 
allowed  her  to  get  the  chair,  which  she  put  by  the  window 
looking  toward  the  Tramp  House,  and  the  round  table, 
which  stood  in  the  bay-window,  with  a  Japanese  bowl  upon 
it  filled  with  lilies  Harold  had  gathered  in  the  early  morn- 
ing. He  had  found  it  impossible  to  go  to  Vassar,  there 
were  so  many  last  things  to  be  done,  and  so  little  money  left 
in  his  purse  with  which  to  make  the  journey,  and  as  Maude 


253  WHY    HAROLD    DID    NOT 

had  more  confidence  in  her  own  taste  for  the  arrangement 
of  furniture  than  in  his,  she,  too,  decided  to  remain  at  home 
and  see  it  through.  The  carpet  was  not  put  down  until  the 
morning  of  the  day  when  the  young  men  started  for  Vassar, 
and  it  was  the  noise  of  the  tack  hammer  which  Tom  had 
heard  and  likened  to  the  shingling  of  a  roof. 

"  There  must  be  flowers  everywhere,  Jerrie  is  so  fond  of 
them,"  Maude  said ;  and  she  brought  great  baskets  full 
from  the  park  gardens,  and  a  costly  Dresden  vase,  which 
Arthur  had  left  for  Jerrie  when  he  went  away,  together 
with  his  card  and  his  photograph,  and  a  .note  in  which  he 
had  written  as  follows  : 

."MY  DEAR  CHILD  : — 

"  Welcome  home  again.  I  wish  I  could  see  you  when 
your  blue  eyes  first  look  upon  the  room  I  came  so  near  tel- 
ling you  about.  Maude  would  have  killed  me  if  I  had. 
You  have  no  idea  how  Harold  has  worked  to  get  it  done, 
and  where  he  got  the  money  is  more  than  I  know.  Pinched 
himself  in  every  way,  of  course.  He  is  a  noble  fel- 
low, Jerrie.  But  you  know  that.  I  saw  it  in  your  face 
at  Vassar,  and  saw  something  else,  too,  which  yon  may 
think  is  a  secret.  Will  talk  with  you  about  it  when  I  come 
home.  I  am  off  to-morrow  for  California.  Would  like  to 
take  you  with  me.  Maybe  I  shall  meet  with  robbers  in  the 
Yosemite.  I'd  rather  like  to.  God  bless  you  ! 

"ARTHUR  TRACY." 

"Uncle  Arthur  was  very  queer  the  day  he  went  away," 
Maude  said  to  Harold,  as  she  put  the  note,  and  the  photo- 
graph, and  the  card  upon  the  dressing- bureau.  "I  heard 
him  talking  to  Gretchen,  and  saying,  '  Gretchen,  Jerrie 
will  be  here  by-and-by,  to  keep  you  company  while  I  am 
gone — little  Jerrie  when  I  first  knew  her,  but  a  great,  tall 
Jerrie  now,  with  the  air  of  a  duchess.  Yes,  Jerrie  is  com- 
ing, Gretchen/  How  he  loves  her — Jerrie,  I  mean  ;  and  I 
do  not  wonder,  do  you  ?" 

Harold's  mouth  was  full  of  tacks  and  he  did  not  reply, 
but  went  steadily  on  with  his  work  until  everything  was 
done. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely,  and  won't  she  be  pleased  !"  Maude  kept 
saying,  as  she  gave  the  room  a  last  look  and  then  started 


00    TO     VASSAR.  257 

for  home,  charging  Harold  to  be  on  time  at  the  station  and 
to  try  and  not  look  so  tired. 

Harold  was  very  tired,  for  the  constant  strain  of  the 
last  few  weeks  had  told  upon  him,  and  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  have  gone  on  much  longer,  and  that  only  for 
Maude's  constant  enthusiasm  and  sympathy  he  should  have 
broken  down  before  the  task  was  done.  It  was  not  easy 
work,  shingling  roofs,  and  nailing  down  floors,  and  paint- 
ing ceilings,  and  every  bone  in  his  body  ached,  and  his 
hands  were  calloused  like  a  piece  of  leather,  and  his  face 
looked  tired  and  pale  when  he  at  last  sat  down  to  rest 
awhile  before  changing  his  working  suit  for  one  scarcely 
better,  although  clean  and  fresher,  with  no  daubs  of  paint 
or  patches  upon  it. 

"  They  don't  look  first-rate,  that's  a  fact/'  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  surveyed  his  pants,  and  boots,  and  hat,  and 
thought  what  a  contrast  he  should  present  to  the  elegant 
Tom  and  the  other  young  men  at  the  station.  "  But  Jer- 
rie  won't  care  ;  she  understands,  or  will,  when  she  sees  her 
new  room.  IIo\y  pretty  it  is  !"  he  added,  as  he  stopped  a 
moment  to  look  in  and  admire  it. 

A  blind  had  swung  open,  letting  in  a  flood  of  hot  sun- 
shine, and  as  it  was  desirable  to  keep  the  room  as  cool  as 
possible,  Ilarold  went  in  to  close  the  shutter.  But  sonic- 
thing  was  the  matter  with  both  fastening  and  hinge,  and 
he  was  fixing  it  when  Maude  drove  up,  telling  him  the 
train  was  late. 

"  That's  lucky,"  he  said,  "  for  this  blind  is  all  out  of 
gear  ;  "  a)id  it  took  so  much  time  to  fix  and  rehang  it  that 
the  whistle  was  heard  among  the  hills  a  mile  away,  just  as 
he  entered  the  Victoria  with  Maude  and  started  for  the 
station  upon  a  run. 


258  THE    WALK    HOME. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  WALK  HOME. 

ALL  the  way  from  the  station  to  the  gate  Harold  was 
trying  to  think  of  something  to  say  besides  the  mer- 
est commonplaces,  and  wondering  at  Jerrie's  silence.  She 
had  seemed  glad  to  see  him,  he  had  seen  that  in  her  eyes, 
and  seen  there  something  else  which  puzzled  and  troubled 
him,  aud  he  was  about  to  ask  her  what  it  was  when  she 
stopped  so  abruptly,  and  said: 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  commencement  ?  Tom 
Tracy  said  you  were  shingling  a  roof,  and  Billy  Peterkin 
said  Maude  was  helping  you." 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  ?"  Harold  said,  bursting  into  a 
laugh.  "  That  is  why  you  have  been  so  stiff  and  distant, 
ever  since  we  left  the  depot,  that  I  could  not  touch  you 
with  a  ten-foot  pole." 

"Well,  I  don't  care/'  Jerrie  replied,  with  a  sob  in  her 
voice.  "Everybody  had  some  friend  there,  but  myself. 
You  don't  know  how  lonely  I  felt  when  I  went  on  the  stage 
and  knew  there  was  no  home  face  looking  at  me  in  all  that 
crowd,  i  think  you  might  have  come  any  way." 

"But,  Jerrie,"  Harold  said,  laying  his  hand  upon  her 
shoulder,  as  they  slowly  walked  on,  "  wait  a  little  before 
you  condemn  me  utterly.  1  wanted  to  come  quite  as  much 
as  you  wanted  to  have  me.  I  remembered  what  a  help  it 
was  to  me  when  I  was  graduated  to  see  your  face  in  the 
crowd  and  know  by  its  expression  that  you  were  satisfied." 

"  I  did  not  suppose  you  saw  me,"  Jerrie  exclaimed,  her 
voice  very  different  in  its  tone  from  what  it  had  been  at 
first. 

"  Saw  you  !"  and  Harold's  hand  tightened  its  grasp  on 
her  shoulder.  "  Saw  you  !  I  scarcely  saw  any  one  else 
except  you,  and  Maude,  who  sat  beside  you.  I  knew  you 
would  be  there,  and  J  looked  the  room  over,  missing  you  at 
first,  and  feeling  as  if  something  were  wanting  to  fire  me 
up,  then,  when  I  found  you,  the  inspiration  came,  and  if  I 
began  to  flag  ever  so  little,  I  had  only  to  look  at  your  blue 
eyes  aud  my  blood  was  up  again," 


THE    WALK    HOME.  259 

This  was  a  great  deal  for  Harold  to  say,  and  lie  felt 
half  frightened  when  he  had  said  it ;  but  Jerrie's  answer 
was  reassuring. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  that.     I  am  so  glad  you  told  me." 

They  were  close  to  the  Tramp  House  now.  The  walk 
from  the  station  had  been  hot  and  dusty,  and  Jerrie  was 
tired,  so  she  said  to  Harold: 

"  Let's  go  in  a  moment ;  it  looks  so  cool  in  there." 

So  they  went  in,  and  Jerrie  sat  down  upon  a  bench, 
while  Harold  took  a  seat  upon  the  table,  and  said: 

"  I  suppose  you  had  peals  of  applause  and  floAvers  by 
the  bushel." 

"Yes,"  Jerrie  replied,  "applause  enough,  and  flowers 
enough — twenty  bouquets  and  baskets  iu  all,  including 
yours.  It  was  kind  iu  you  to  send  it/' 

She  did  not  tell  him  of  the  wilted  condition  of  his  flow- 
ers, or  that  one  of  the  faded  roses  was  pressed  between  the 
lids  of  her  Latin  grammar. 

"  Billy  gave  me  a  heart  of  blue  forget-me-nots,"  she 
continued,  "  and  Tom  a  book  of  daisies  on  a  standard  of 
violets.  What  a  prig  Tom  is,  and  what  a  dandy  Billy  has 
grown  to  be,  and  he  stammers  worse  than  ever." 

"  But  he  is  one  of  the  best-hearted  fellows  in  the 
world ;"  Harold  said,  "he  has  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"Yes,  I  know;"  Jerrie  rejoined,  quickly,  "he  makes 
his  father  pay  you  big  wages  in  the  office  and  gives  you  a 
great  many  holidays ;  that  is  kind.  But,  oh,  Harold,  how 
I  hate  it  all — your  being  obliged  to  work  for  such  a  man  as 
Peterkin.  I  wish  I  were  rich  !  Maybe  I  shall  be  some 
day.  Who  knows  ?" 

The  great  tears  were  shining  in  her  eyes  as  she  talked, 
and  brushing  them  away  she  suddenly  changed  the  conver- 
sation, and  said  : 

"  1  never  come  in  here  that  a  thousand  strange  fancies 
do  not  begin  to  flit  through  my  brain,  and  my  memory 
seems  stretched  to  the  utmost  tension,  and  I  remember 
things  away  back  in  the  past  before  you  found  me  in  the 
carpet-bag." 

She  was  gazing  up  toward  the  rafters  with  a  rapt  look 
on  her  face,  as  if  she  were  seeing  the  things  of  which  she 
was  talking  ;  and  Harold,  who  had  never  seen  her  in  just 
this  way,  said  to  her  very  softly  : 


2GO  THE    WALK    HOME. 

"  What  do  you  remember,  Jerrie  ?  What  do  you 
see  ?> 

She  did  not  move  her  head  or  eyes,  but  answered 
him. 

"I  see  always  a  sweet  pale  face,  to  which  I  can  almost 
give  a  name — a  face,  which  smiles  upon  me ;  and  a  thin 
white  liand  which  is  laid  upon  my  hair — a  hand  not  like 
those  you  have  told  me  about,  and  which  must  have  touched 
me  so  tenderly  that  awful  night.  Did  you  ever  try  to 
recall  a  name,  or  a  dream,  which  seems  sometimes  just 
wit  1 1  in  your  grasp,  and  then  baffles  all  your  efforts  to 
retain  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  often/'  Harold  said. 

"  Just  so  it  is  with  me/'  she  continued.  ' '  I  try  to  keep 
the  fancies  which  come  and  go  so  fast,  and  which  always 
have  reference  to  the  past,  and  some  far  off  country — Ger- 
many, I  think.  Harold,  I  must  have  been  older  when  you 
found  me  than  you  supposed  I  was." 

"  Possibly,"  Harold  replied.  "  You  were  so  small  that 
we;  thought  you  almost  a  baby,  although  you  had  an  old 
head  on  your  shoulders  from  the  first,  and  could  you  have 
spoken  our  language,  I  believe  you  might  have  told  us  who 
you  were  and  where  you  came  from." 

"  Perhaps,"  Jerry  said.  "  I  don't  know  ;  only  this,  as  I 
grow  older,  the  things  way  back  come  to  me,  and  the 
others  fade  away.  The  dark  woman  ;  my  mother," — she 
spoke  the  name  very  low — "  is  not  half  as  real  to  me  as  the 
pale,  sick  face,  on  which  the  firelight  shines.  It  is  a  small 
house,  and  a  low  room,  with  a  big,  white  stove  in  the  cor- 
ner, and  somebody  is  putting  wood  in  it ;  a  dark  woman  ; 
she  stoops  ;  and  from  the  open  door  the  firelight  falls  upon 
the  face  in  the  chair — the  woman  who  is  always  writing 
when  she  is  not  in  bed ;  and  I  am  there,  a  little  child  ;  and 
when  the  pale  face  cries,  I  cry,  too  ;  and  when  she  dies — 
oh,  Harold  !  but  you  saw  me  play  it  once,  and  wondered 
where  I  got  the  idea.  I  saw  it.  I  know  I  did  ;  I  was 
there,  a  part  of  the  play.  I  was  the  little  child.  Then, 
there  is  a  blur,  a  darkness,  with  many  people  and  a  crying 
— two  voices — the  dark  woman's  and  mine  ;  then,  a  river, 
or  the  sea,  or  both,  and  noisy  streets,  and  a  storm,  and 
cold ;  and  you,  taking  me  into  the  sunshine." 

As  she  talked  she  had  unconsciously  laid  her  haud  on 


TUB    WALK   HOVE.  2(51 

Harold's  knee,  and  he  had  taken  it  in  his,  and  was  holding 
it  fast,  when  she  startled  him  with  the  question  : 

"  Do  you — did  you — ever  think — did  any  body  ever 
think  it  possible,  that  the  woman  found  dead  in  here,  was 
not  my  mother  ?" 

"Not  yonr  mother  !"  Harold  exclaimed,  dropping  her 
hand  in  his  surprise^  "Not  your  mother  !  What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"  No  disrespect  to  her,"  Jerrie  replied — "  the  good, 
brave  woman,  who  gave  her  life  for  me,  and  whose  clear 
hands  shielded  me  from  the  cold  as  long  as  there  was  power 
in  them  to  do  it.  I  love  and  reverence  her  memory  as  if 
she  had  been  my  mother  ;  but,  Harold,  do  I  look  at  all  as 
she  did  ?  You  saw  her — here,  and  at  the  park  house. 
Think — am  I  like  her — in  any  thing  ?" 

"Xo,"  Harold  answered.  "You  are  like  her  in  noth- 
ing ;  but  you  may  resemble  your  father." 

"  Ye-cs,"  Jerrie  said,  sloAvly,  "I  may.  Oh,  Harold,  the 
spell  is  on  me  now  so  strong  that  I  can  almost  remember. 
Tell  me  again  about  that  night,  and  the  morning ;  what 
they  did  at  the  park  house — Mr.  Arthur,  I  mean.  He  was 
expecting  somebody  ;  Grctchen,  was  it  not  ?" 

She  had  grasped  his  hand  again,  and  was  looking  into 
his  face  as  if  his  answer  would  be  life  or  death  to  her. 
And  Harold,  who  had  no  idea  what  was  in  her  mind,  and 
who  had  never  thought  that  the  dark  woman  was  not  her 
mother,  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  as  he  replied  : 

"  Yes,  I  remember  that  he  had  a  fancy  in  his  mind  that 
Gretclu-u  was  coming ;  but  he  has  had  that  fancy  so  often. 
He  said  she  was  in  the  ship  with  him  and  on  the  train,  but 
she  wasn't.  I  think  Gretehen  is  dead." 

"Yes,  she  is  dead,"  Jerrie  said,  decidedly;  "but  tell 
me  again  all  you  know  of  the  time  I  came." 

Harold  told  her  again  what  he  knew  personally  of  the 
tragedy,  and  all  he  remembered  to  have  heard.  But  the 
thing  most  real  to  him  was  Jerrie  herself,  the  beautiful  girl 
sitting  by  his  side  and  ast  mishing  him  with  her  mood  and 
her  questions,  lie  had  seen  her  often  in  her  spells,  as  he 
called  them  ;  when  she  acted  her  pantomimes,  and  talked 
to  people  whom  she  said  she  saw  ;  but  he  had  only  thought 
of  them  as  the  vagaries  of  a  peculiar  mind — a  German  mind 


262  Tm    WALK  SOME. 

his  grandmother  said,  and  he  accepted  her  theory  as  thd 
correct  one. 

He  had  never  seen  Jerrie  as  she  was  now,  with  that  loo]; 
in  her  face  and  in  her  eyes,  which  shone  with  a  strange 
light  as  she  went  on  to  speak  of  the  things  which  sometimes 
came  and  went  so  f;»st,  and  which  she  tried  in  vain  to 
retain.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  woman  he 
had  found  dead  was  not  her  mother,  and  he  thought  her 
crazy  when  she  put  the  question  to  him.  But  he  was  a  man, 
solid  and  steady,  with  no  vagaries  of  the  brain,  and  not  a 
tithe  of  the  impetuosity  and  imagination  of  the  girl,  who 
asked  him  at  last  if  he  had  ever  seen  any  one  whom  she 
resembled. 

He  was  wondering,  in  a  vague  kind  of  way,  how  long 
she  meant  to  stay  there,  and  if  the  tea-cakes  his  grand- 
mother was  going  to  make  for  supper  would  be  spoiled, 
when  she  asked  the  question,  to  which  he  replied  : 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  ever  did,  unless  it  is  Gretchen. 
You  are  some  like  her,  but  I  suppose  many  German  girls 
have  her  complexion  and  hair." 

The  answer  was  not  very  reassuring,  and  Jerrie  showed 
it  in  her  face,  which  was  still  upturned  to  Harold,  who, 
looking  down  upon  it  and  the  earnest,  wistful  expression 
which  had  settled  there,  started  suddenly  as  if  an  arrow 
had  struck  him,  for  he  saw  the  likeness  Jerrie  had  seen  in 
the  glass,  and  taking  her  face  between  both  his  hands,  he 
studied  it  intently,  while  the  possibility  of  the  thing  kept 

5  rowing  upon  him,  making  him  colder  and  fainter  than 
erne  herself  had  been  when  she  looked  into  the  mirror. 

"  What  if  it  were  so  ?"  he  said  to  himself,  while  every- 
thing seemed  slipping  away  from  him,  but  mostly  Jerrie, 
who,  if  it  were  so,  would  be  separated  from  him  by  a  gulf 
he  could  not  pass  ;  for  what  would  the  daughter  of  Arthur 
Tracy  care  for  him,  the  poor  boy,  whose  life  had  been  one 
fight  with  poverty,  and  whose  worn,  shabby  clothe?,  on 
which  the  full  western  sunlight  was  falling,  told  plainer 
than  words  of  the  poverty  which  still  held  him  in  thrall. 

"Jerrie  !"  he  cried,  rising  to  his  feet,  and  letting  the 
hands  which  had  clasped  her  face  drop  down  to  her  shoul- 
ders, which  they  pressed  tightly,  as  if  he  thus  would  keep 
her  with  him — "Oh,  Jerrie,  you  are  like  Arthur  Tracy,  or 
you  were  when  you  looked  at  me  so  earnestly ;  but  it  is 


Tfflt    WALK   HOAltt.  m 

gone  now.     Do  you — have  you  thought  that  Gretchen  was 
your  mother  ?" 

He  was  pale  as  a  corpse,  and  Jerrie  was  the  calmer  of 
the  two,  as  she  told  him  frankly  all  she  had  thought  and 
felt  since  Arthur's  visit  to  her. 

"  I  meant  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  though  not  quite  so 
soon  ;  but  when  I  came  in  here  I  could  not  help  it,  things 
crowded  upon  me  so.  It  may  be,  and  probably  is,  all  a 
fancy,  but  there  is  something  in  my  babyhood  different 
from  the  woman  who  died,  and  when  I  am  able  to  do  it,  I 
am  going  to  Wiesbaden,  for  that  is  where  Gretchen  lived, 
and  where  I  believe  I  came  from,  and  if  there  is  anything 
I  shall  find  it.  Oh,  Harold  !  I  may  not  be  Gretchen's 
daughter,  but  if  I  am  more  than  a  peasant  girl — if  any- 
thing good  comes  of  my  search,  my  greatest  joy  will  be 
that  I  can  share  with  you,  who  have  been  so  kind  to  me. 
I  will  gladly  give  you  and  grandma  every  dollar  I  may  ever 
have,  and  then  I  should  not  pay  you." 

"  There  is  nothing  owing  me,"  Harold  said,  the  pain  in 
his  heart  and  his  fear  of  losing  her  growing  less  as  she 
talked.  "  You  have  brought  me  nearly  all  the  happiness 
I  have  ever  known  ;  for  when  I  was  a  boy  and  every  bone 
ached  with  the  hard  work  I  had  to  do — the  thought  that 
Jerrie  was  waiting  for  me  at  home,  that  her  face  would 
greet  me  at  the  window,  or  in  the  door,  made  the  labor 
light  ;  and  now  that  I  am  a  man — "  He  paused  a  moment, 
and  Jerrie's  head  drooped  a  little,  for  his  voice  was  very 
low  and  soft,  and  she  waited  with  a  beating  heart  for  him 
to  go  on.  "  Now  that  I  am  a  man,  life  would  be  nothing 
to  me  without  you." 

Was  this  a  declaration  of  love  ?  It  almost  seemed  so, 
and,  but  for  a  thought  of  Maude,  Jerrie  might  have 
believed  it  was  such,  and  lead  him  on  to  something  more 
definite.  As  it  was,  her  heart  gave  a  great  bound  of  joy, 
which  showed  itself  on  her  face  as  she  replied  : 

" If  I  make  your  life  happier,  /am  glad  ;  for  never  had 
a  poor,  unknown  girl,  so  good  and  true  a  brother  as  I. 
But  come,  I  have  kept  you  here  too  long,  and  grandma 
must  be  wondering  where  we  are." 

"  Yes,  and  supper  will  be  spoiled,"  Harold  said,  as  he 
followed  her  to  the  door.  "  We  are  to  have  it  in  the  back 
porch,  where  it  is  so  cool,  and  to  have  tea-cakes,  with 


264  AT   HOME. 

strawberries  from  our  own  vines,  and  cream  from  our  own 
cow,  or  rather  your  cow.  Did  I  write  you  that  she  had  a 
splendid  calf,  which  we  call  Clover-top  ?" 

They  had  come  back  to  commonplaces  now.  Jerrie's 
clairvoyant  spell  hud  passed  and  she  was  herself  again, 
simple  Jerrie  Crawford,  Avalking  along  the  familiar  path, 
and  talking  of  the  cow  which  Frank  Tracy  had  given  her 
when  it  was  a  sickly  calf,  whose  mother  had  died.  She 
had  taken  it  home  and  nursed  it  so  carefully  that  it  was 
now  a  healthy  little  Jersey,  whom  she  called  Nannie. 

"A  funny  name  for  a  cow,"  Harold  had  said,  and  she 
had  replied  : 

"Yes,  but  it  keeps  repeating  itself  in  my  brain.  I 
have  known  a  Nannie  sometime,  sure,  and  may  as  well 
perpetuate  the  name  in  my  bossy  as  anywhere." 

Nannie  was  in  a  little  inclosure  by  the  side  of  the  lane, 
and  at  Harold's  call  she  came  to  the  fence,  over  which  she 
put  her  face  far  the  caress  she  was  sure  to  get,  while  Clo- 
ver-top kicked  up  her  heels  and  acted  as  if  she,  too,  under- 
stood and  was  glad  Jerry  had  come. 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  pleasant  everywhere,  and  I  am  so  glad  to 
be  home  again/'  Jerrie  said,  as  her  eyes  went  rapidly  from 
one  thing  to  another,  until  at  last  they  fell  upon  the 
raised  roof  looking  so  new  and  yellow  in  the  sunlight. 


CHAPTEK  XXXI. 

AT   HOME. 

,  Harold,  what  have  you  been  doing  ?"  Jerrie 
exclaimed,  stopping  short,  while  a  suspicion  of  the 
truth  began  to  dawn  upon  her. 

"  That  is  the  roof  Tom  told  you  I  was  shingling,"  Har- 
old replied  ;  and  taking  her  by  the  arm,  he  hurried  her  on 
to  the  cottage,  where  Mrs.  Crawford  stood  in  the  door,  in 
her  broad  white  apron  and  the  neat  muslin  cap  which 
Maude  had  fashioned  for  her. 

With  a  cry  of  joy,  Jerrie  took  the  old  lady  in  her  arms, 
and  kissed  and  cried  over  her. 


AT   1IOM8.  265 

"  It  is  so  nice  to  be  home,  and  everything  is  so  pleas- 
ant !"  she  said,  as  her  eyes  swept  the  sitting-room,  and 
kitchen,  and  back  porch  where  the  tea  table  was  laid,  wit.li 
its  luscious  berries  and  pitchers  of  cream. 

"Go  right  upstairs  with  Harold.  I  have  just  come 
down,  and  can't  go  tip  again,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said,  excit- 
edly ;  and,  with  a  bound,  Jerrie  was  up  the  stairs  arid  in 
the  lovi  ly  room. 

When  she  saw  them  coming  in  the  lane,  Mrs.  Crawford 
had  gone  up  and  opened  the  shutters,  letting  in  a  flood  of 
light,  so  that  nothing  should  escape  Jerrie's  notice.  And 
she  saw  it  all  at  a  glance — the  high  walls,  the  carpet,  the 
furniture,  the  curtains,  and  the  flowers — and  knew  why 
Harold  did  not  come  to  Vassar. 

He  was  standing  in  the  bay-window,  watching  her,  and 
the  light  fell  full  upon  his  shabby  clothes,  which  Jerrie 
noticed  for  the  first  time,  knowing  exactly  why  he  must 
wear  them,  and  understanding  perfectly  all  the  self-denials 
and  sacrifices  he  had  made  for  her,  who  had  been  angry 
because  he  did  not  come  to  see  her  graduate.  Had  she 
been  younger,  she  would  have  thrown  herself  into  his  arms 
and  cried  there.  Harold  half  thought  and  hoped  she  was 
going  to  do  so  now,  for  she  made  a  rush  toward  him,  then 
stopped  suddenly,  and  sinking  into  the  willow  chair,  began 
to  sob  aloud,  while  Harold  stood  looking  at  her,  wondering 
what  he  ought  to  do. 

"  Don't  you  like  it,  Jerrie  ?"  he  said  at  last. 

<s  Like  it  ?"  and  iu  the  eyes  which  she  flashed  upon  him, 
he  read  her  answer.  "Like  it!  I  never  saw  a  room  I 
liked  better.  But  why  did  you  do  it  ?  Was  it  because  of 
that  foolish  speech  of  mine  about  knocking  my  brains  out, 
the  ceiling  was  so  low  :" 

"  Not  at  all,"  Harold  replied.  "  I  had  the  idea  in  my 
head  long  before  you  wrote  that  to  me,  but  could  not  quite 
see  my  way  clear  until  last  spring.  I  have  seen  Nina's 
room,  and  Maude's,  and  have  hi-anl  that  Ann  Eliza  Peter- 
kin's  was  finer  than  the  queen's  at  Windsor,  and  I  did  not 
like  to  think  of  you  in  the  cooped  up  place  this  was,  with 
the  slanting  roof  and  low  windows.  I  am  glad  you  like  it." 

And  then,  knowing  that  she  would  never  let  him  rest 
until  he  had  done  so,  he  told  her  all  the  ways  and  means 
by  which  he  had  been  able  to  accomplish  it,  except,  indeed, 

12 


266  AT   HOME. 

his  own  self-denials  and  sacrifices  of  pride,  and  even  com- 
fort. But  this  she  understood,  and  looked  at  the  shabby 
coat,  and  shoes,  and  the  calloused  hands,  which  lay  upon 
his  knees  as  he  talked,  and  which  she  wanted  so  much  to 
take  in  hers  and  kiss  and  pity,  for  the  hard  work  they  had 
done  for  her.  But  this  would  have  been  "throwing  her- 
self at  his  head/'  and  so  she  only  cried  the  more,  as  she  told 
him  how  much  she  thanked  him,  and  that  she  never  could 
repay  him  for  what  he  had  done  for  her. 

"  But  it  was  a  pleasure,"  he  said.  "  I  never  enjoyed 
anything  in  my  life  as  I  have  working  in  this  room,  with 
Maude  to  help  me.  She  was  here  nearly  every  day,  and  by 
her  enthusiasm  kept  me  up  to  fever  heat.  She  puttied  up 
the  nail-holes  and  painted  your  dressing-room,  and  would 
have  helped  shingle  the  roof  if  I  had  permitted  it.  She 
gave  the  chair  you  sit  in,  and  the  table  in  the  window.  She 
would  do  that,  and  I  let  her ;  but  when  Mr.  Arthur  offered 
his  assistance,  and  the  other  Mr.  Tracy,  I  refused,  for  I 
wanted  it  all  my  own  for  you." 

He  was  speaking  rapidly  and  excitedly,  and  had  Jcrrie 
looked  up  she  would  have  seen  in  his  face  all  she  was  to 
him  ;  but  she  did  not,  and  at  mention  of  Maude  a  cloud  fell 
suddenly  upon  her.  But  she  would  not  let  it  remain  ;  she 
would  be  happy,  and  make  Harold  so,  too.  So  she  told 
him  again  of  her  delight,  and  what  a  joyous  coming  home 
it  was. 

She  had  not  yet  seen  Arthur's  card,  and  photograph, 
and  note  ;  but  Harold  called  her  attention  to  them  ;  and 
taking  up  the  latter,  she  opened  it,  while  her  heart  gave 
a  throb  of  something  between  joy  and  pain  as  she  saw  the 
words,  "  My  dear  child,"  and  then  read  the  note  so  charac- 
teristic of  him. 

"  What  a  strange  fancy  of  his  to  go  off  PO  suddenly  to 
California.  I  wonder  Mr.  Frank  allowed  it,"  she  said,  as 
she  put  the  note  in  her  pocket,  and  then,  at  a  call  from 
Mrs.  Crawford,  went  down  to  where  the  supper  was  wait- 
ing for  her. 

The  tea-cakes  were  a  little  cold,  but  everything  else 
was  delicious,  from  the  fragrant  tea  to  the  ripe  berries  and 
thick,  sweet  cream,  and  Jerrie  enjoyed  it  with  the  keen 
relish  of  youth  and  perfect  health. 

After  supper  was  over  Jerrie  made  her  grandmother  sit 


AT   HOME.  267 

still  while  she  washed  and  put  away  the  dishes,  singing  as 
she  worked,  and  whistling,  too — loud,  clear,  ringing  strains, 
which  made  a  robin  in  the  grass  fly  up  to  the  porch,  where, 
with  his  head  turned  on  one  side  he  listened  to  this  new 
songster,  whose  notes  were  strange  to  him. 

And  Jerrie  did  seem  like  some  joyous  bird  just  let  loose 
from  prison,  as  she  flitted  from  one  thing  to  another,  now 
setting  her  grandmother's  cap  a  little  more  squarely  on  her 
head,  and  bending  to  kiss  the  silvery  hair  as  she  said  to  her, 
"  Your  working  days  are  over,  for  I  have  come  home  to 
care  for  you,  and  in  the  future  you  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  sit  still,  with  your  dear  old  lame  feet  on  a  cushion ;" 
now  h  'Iping  llarold  water  the  flowers  in  the  borders,  und 
pinning  a  June  Pink  in  his  button-hole;  now,  going  with 
him  to  milk  Nannie,  who,  either  remembering  Jerrie,  or 
recognizing  a  friend  in  her,  allowed  her  horn  to  be  deco- 
ra:ed  with  a  knot  of  blue  ribbon,  which  Jerrie  took  from 
her  throat,  and  which  II  irold  afterward  took  from  Nannie's 
horn  and  hid  away  with  the  withered  lilies  Jerrie  had 
thrown  him  that  day  at  Harvard  when  her  face  and  her 
eyes  had  been  his  inspiration. 

They  kept  early  hours  at  the  cottage,  and  the  people  at 
the  Park  House  were  little  more  than  through  the  grand 
dinner  they  were  giving,  when  Jerrie  said  good-night  to 
her  grand  mother  and  Harold,  and  went  up  to  her  new 
room  under  the  raised  roof.  It  was  a  lovely  summer  night, 
and  the  moonlight  fell  softly  upon  the  grass  and  shrubs 
outside,  and  shone  far  down  the  long  lane  where  the  Tramp 
House  stood,  with*  its  thick  covering  of  woodbine. 

Leaning  from  the  window,  Jerrie  looked  out  upon  the 
night,  while  u  thousand  thoughts  and  fancies  came  crowd- 
ing into  her  brain,  all  born  of  that  likeness  seen  by  her  in 
the  mirror  when  Arthur  was  with  her  at  Vassar,  and  which 
Harold,  to  >,  had  recognized  when  she  sat  with  him  in  the 
Tramp  House.  After  Arthur  had  left  her  in  May  she  had 
been  too  busy  to  indulge  in  idle  dreams,  but  they  had  come 
buck  to  her  again  with  an  overwhelming  force,  which 
seemed  for  a  few  moments  to  lift  the  vail  of  mystery  and 
show  her  the  past,  for  which  she  was  so  eagerly  longing. 
Th.'s  pal-1  face  was  more  distinct  in  her  mind,  as  was  the 
room  with  the  tall  white  stove  and  the  high-backed  settee 
beside  it,  uiid  on  the  settee  a  little  girl — herself,  she 


*G3  AT   SOMJS. 

believed — and  she  could  hear  a  voice  from  the  cushioned 
chair  speaking  to  her  and  calling  her  by  the  name  Arthur 
had  given  her  in  his  note. 

"  My  child,"  lie  haJ  written  ;  but  he  had  only  put  it  as 
a  term  of  endearment ;  he  had  no  suspicion  of  the  truth,  if 
it  were  truth  ;  and  yet  why  should  he  not  know  ?  Could 
anything  obliterate  the  memory  of  a  child,  if  there  had 
been  one,  Jerrie  asked  herself. 

"  I  will  know  some  time.  I  will  find  it  out,"  she  said, 
as  she  withdrew  from  the  window  and  commenced  her 
preparations  for  bed. 

As  she  stepped  into  her  dressing-room,  her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  foreign  trunk,  with  the  contents  of  which  she  was  famil- 
iar. They  had  been  kept  intact  by  Mrs.  Crawford,  who 
hope  1  that  by  them  Jerrie  might  some  day  be  identified. 
Going  to  the  old  trunk  Jerrie  lifted  the  lid,  and  took  out 
the  articles  one  by  one  with  a  very  different  feeling  from 
what  she  had  ever  experienced  before  when  handling  them. 
The  alpaca  dress  came  first,  and  she  examined  it  Carefully. 
It  was  coarse,  and  plain,  and  old-fashioned,  and  she  felt 
uutuitively  that  a  servant  had  worn  it.  The  cloak  and 
shawl,  in  which  she  had  been  wrapped,  were  inspected 
next,  and  on  these  Jerrie's  tears  fell  like  rain,  as  she  thought 
of  the  woman  who  had  resolutely  put  away  the  covering 
from  herself  to  save  a  life  which  was  no  part  of  her  own. 

"Oh,  Mah-nee,"  she  sobbed,  laying  her  face  upon  the 
rough  coarse  garments,  "  I  am  not  disloyal  to  you  in  trying 
to  believe  that  you  were  not  my  mother,  and  could  you  come 
back  to  me,  Mah-nee,  whoever  you  are,  I'd  be  to  you  so 
loving  and  true.  Tell  me,  Mah-nee,  who  I  am  :  give  me 
some  sign  that  what  comes  to  me  so  often  of  that  far-off 
land  is  true.  There  was  another  face  than  yours  which 
kissed  me,  and  other  hands,  dead  now,  as  are  the  dear  old 
hands  which  shielded  me  from  the  cold  that  awful  night, 
have  caressed  me  lovingly." 

But  to  this  appeal  there  came  no  response,  and  Jerrie 
would  have  been  frightened  if  there  had.  The  shawl,  the 
cloak,  and  the  dress  were  as  silent  and  motionless  as  she  to 
whom  they  had  belonged  ;  and  Jerrie  folded  them  reverently, 
and  putting  them  aside  took  out  her  own  clothes  li^xt — the 
little  dresses  which  showed  a  mother's  love  and  care  ;  the*J 
handkerchief  marked  "J ;"  the  aprons,  and  the  picture 


THE    NEXT   DAT.  269 

book  with  which  she  had  played,  and  from  which  it  seemed 
to  her  she  had  learned  the  alphabet,  standing  by  a  cushioned 
chair  before  a  tall  white  stove.  There  was  only  the  fine 
towel  left,  and  Jerrie  looked  long  and  thoughtfully  at  the 
letter  "M,"  embroidered  in  the  corner. 

"  Marguerite  begins  with  M,"  she  said,  "and  Gretch- 
cn's  name  was  Marguerite.  If  it  were  Gretchen  who  worked 
this  letter  I  can  touch  what  her  hands  have  touched — and 
she  kissed  the  "  M  "  as  fervently  as  if  it  had  been  Gretch- 
en's  lip,  and  Gretchen  were  her  mother. 

On  the  old  brass  ring  the  key  to  the  trunk  and  carpet- 
bag \vere  still  fastened,  together  with  the  small  key,  for 
which  no  use  had  ever  been  found.  Jerrie  had  never 
thought  much  about  this  key  before,  but  no\v  she  held  it 
a  long  time  while  the  conviction  grew  that  this  was  the  key 
to  the  mystery  ;  that  could  see  find  the  article  which  this 
unlocked,  she  would  know  something  definite  with  regard 
to  herself.  But  where  to  look  she  could  not  guess  ;  and 
with  her  brain  in  a  whirl  which  threatened  a  violent  head- 
ache, she  closed  the  chest  at  last,  and  crept  wearily  to  bed 
just  as  the  clock,  which  Peterkin  had  set  up  in  one  of  his 
towers,  struck  for  half-past  ten,  and  Grace  Atherton's  car- 
riage was  rolling  down  the  avenue  from  the  big  dinner  at 
the  Park  House. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE   NEXT   DAT. 

JERRIE  was  astir  the  next  morning  almost  as  soon  as 
the  first  robin  began  to  sing  under  her  window.  She 
had  left  a  blind  open,  and  the  red  beams  of  the  rising  sun 
fell  upon  her  face  and  roused  her  from  a  dream  of  Ger- 
many and  what  she  meant  to  do  there.  Once  fairly  awake, 
Germany  seemed  far  away,  as  did  the  fancies  of  the  pre- 
vious night.  The  spell,  mesmeric,  or  clairvoyant,  or  what- 
ever one  chooses  to  call  it,  was  broken,  and  she  began 
dressing  rapidly  and  noiselessly  so  as  not  to  awaken  her 
grandmother,  who  slept  in  the  room  beneath  hers, 


270  THE    NEXT   DAT. 

"  I  shall  get  the  start  of  her/'  she  said,  as  she  donned 
a  simple  working  dress  which  had  done  her  service  during 
the  summer  vacations  for  three  successive  years.  "  I  heard 
her  telling  Harold  last  night  to  have  the  tubs  and  water 
ready  early,  for  she  had  put  off  the  Monday's  washing 
until  I  came  home,  as  I  was  sure  to  bring  a  pile  of  soiled 
clothes.  And  I  have  ;  but,  my  dear  grandmother,  your 
poor  old  twisted  hands  will  not  touch  them.  What  is  a 
great  strapping  girl  like  me  for,  I'd  like  to  know,  if  it  is 
not  to  wash  her  own  clothes,  and  yours,  too  ?"  and  Jerrie 
nodded  resolutely  at  the  fresh  young  face  in  the  mirror, 
which  nodded  back  with  a  smile  of  approbation,  of  the  tout 
ensemble  of  the  figure  reflected  in  the  glass. 

And  truly  it  was  a  very  pretty  and  piquant  picture 
she  made  in  her  neat  calico  dress,  which,  as  it  was  three 
years  old  at  least,  was  a  little  too  short  for  her,  and  showed 
plainly  her  red  stockings  and  high-heeled  slippers,  with 
the  strap  around  her  instep.  Her  sleeves  were  short,  for 
she  had  cut  them  off  and  arranged  them  in  a  puff  above 
her  elbows  to  save  rolling  them  up,  and  her  white  bib-apron 
was  fastened  on  each  shoulder  with  a  knot  of  blue  ribbon, 
Harold's  favorite  color.  She  had  thoroughly  brushed  her 
hair,  and  then  twisting  it  into  a  knot,  had  tucked  it  under 
a  coquettish  muslin  cap,  whose  narrow  frill  just  shaded 
her  face. 

"  You  look  like  a  peasant  girl,  and  I  believe  you  are  a 
peasant  girl,  and  ought  to  be  working  in  the  fields  of  Ger- 
many this  minute/'  she  said  to  herself  with  a  mocking 
courtesy,  as  she  left  the  mirror  and  descended  to  the  kit- 
chen, where,  early  as  it  was,  she  found  Harold  warming 
some  coffee  over  a  fire  of  chips,  and  cutting  &  slice  of  dry 
bread. 

"What  in  the  world  !"  she  exclaimed,  stopping  short 
on  the  threshold.  "I  meant  to'  be  the  first  on  the  scene, 
and  lo  !  here  you  are  before  me.  What  are  you  doing  ?" 

"  Getting  my  breakfast,"  Harold  roplied,  turning 
toward  her  with  a  slight  shade  of  annoyance  on  his  face. 
"  You  see,  I  have  a  job.  I  did  not  tell  you  last  night  that 
a  Mr.  Allen,  who  lives  across  the  river,  four  miles  away, 
looked  in  one  day  when  I  was  painting  your  ceiling,  and 
liked  it  so  much  that  he  engaged  me  to  paint  one  for  him. 
I  told  him  I  was  only  au  amateur,  but  he  said  he'd  rather 


THE    XEXT    DAT.  271 

have  me  than  all  the  boss  painters  in  Sbannondale.  Tie 
offered  me  three  dollars  a  day  and  hoard,  which  nu-ans din- 
ner and  supper,  or  fifteen  for  the  job  ;  and  1  took  the  last 
offer,  as  I  can  make  the  most  at  it  by  beginning  early  and 
working  late,  a'id  we  need " 

Here  he  shopped  short,  for  how  could  he  tell  Jerrie  that 
the  raised  roof  had  Taken  all  his  means,  and  that  he  even 
owed  the  grocer  for  the  sugar  she  had  eaten  upon  her  ber- 
ries, and  the  butcher  for  the  bit  of  steak  bought  the  pre- 
vious night  for  her  breakfast  and  his  grandmothers.  But 
Jerrie  guessed  it  without  his  telling,  but  with  her  quick 
in-tinot  and  delicate  perception  knew  that  no  genuine  man 
like  Harold  cares  to  have  even  his  best  friend  know  of  his 
poverty  if  he  can  help  it.  Forcing  back  the  tears  which 
sprang  to  her  eyes,  she  said,  cheerily  : 

"  Yes,  I  kiiow  ;  you  are  a  kind  of  second  Michael 
Angelo,  though  I  doubt  if  that  old  gentleman,  at  your  age, 
could  have  done  my  room  better  than  you  did,  I  don't 
won  ler  Mr.  Allen  wants  you.  But  you  are  not  going  to 
tramp  four  miles  on  a  hot  morning,  on  nothing  but  bread 
and  coffe -,  and  such  coffee — muddier  than  the  Missouri 
River  !  Y"u  slvill  have  a  decent  breakfast,  if  I  can  get  it 
for  you.  Just  sit  down  and  rest,  and  see  what  a  Vassar 
with  a  diploma  can  do." 

As  she  talked  she  was  replenishing  the  fire  with  hard 
wood,  putting  on  the  kettle,  pouring  out  the  coffee  dregs 
saved  from  yesterday's  breakfast,  and  hunting  for  an  egg 
with  whieh  to  settle  the  fresh  cup  she  intended  to  makp. 

"]S"o,  no.  Jerrie.  You  must  not  take  that ;  it  is  all  we 
have  in  the  house,  and  grandma  must  have  a  fresh  one 
every  day  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  doctor  says — it  strength- 
ens her,"  Harold  said,  rising  quickly,  while  Jerrie  put  the 
one  egg  back  in  the  box  and  asked  what  Mrs.  Crawford  did 
settle  eouve  with. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  ;  cold  water,  I  guess,"  Harold 
said,  resuming  his  se-it,  while  Jerrie  tripped  here  and  there 
laying  the  cloth,  bringing  his  cup  and  saucer  and  plate, 
ami  at  last  pouncing  upon  the  bit  of  steak  in  the  refrig- 
erator. 

But  here  Harold  again  interfered. 

"Jerrie—  Jerrie,  that  is  for  your  breakfast  and  grand- 
ma's. You  must  not  take  that." 


272  THE    NEXT   DAT. 

"  But  I  shall  take  half  of  it.  I  would  rather  have  a 
glass  of  Nannie's  milk  any  time  than  meat,  and  you  are 
going  to  have  my  share  ;  so.  Mr.  Hastings,  just  mind  your 
busine-s  and  let  the  cook  alone,  or  she'll  be  givin'  ye 
warnin',"  Jerrie  answered,  laughingly^as  she  divided  the 
steak,  which  she  proceeded  at  once  to  broil. 

So  Harold  let  her  have  her  way,  and  felt  an  increase  of 
self-respect,  and  that  he  was  something  more  than  a  com- 
mon day-laborer,  as  he  ate  his  steak  and  buttered  toast, 
and  drank  the  coffee,  which  seemed  to  him  the  hest  he  had 
ever  tasted.  Jerrie  picked  him  a  few  strawberries,  and 
laid  beside  his  plate  a  beautiful  half-opened  rose,  with  the 
dew  still  upon  it.  It  was  a  delicate  attention,  and  Harold 
felt  it  more  than  all  she  had  done  for  him. 

"  Thank  you,  Jerrie,"  he  said,  picking  up  the  rose  as 
he  finished  his  breakfast.  "  It  was  so  nice  in  you  to  think 
of  it,  just  as  if  I  were  a  king  instead  of  a  jack-at-all-trades ; 
but  I  hardly  think  it  suits  my  blue  checked  shin  and  painty 
pants.  Keep  it  yourself,  Jerrie,"  and  he  held  it  up  against 
her  white  bio  apron.  "It  is  just  like  the  pink  on  your 
cheeks.  Wear  it  for  me,"  and  taking  a  pin  from  his  collar, 
he  fastened  it  rather  awkwardly  to  the  bib,  while  his  face 
came  in  so  close  proximity  to  Jerrie's  that  he  felt  her 
breath  stir  his  hair,  and  felt,  too,  a  strong  temptation  to 
kiss  the  cheek  so  near  his  own.  "There;  that  completes 
your  costume,"  he  said,  holding  her  off  a  little  to  look  at 
her.  "  By  the  way,  haven't  you  got  yourself  up  uncom- 
monly well  this  morning  ?  I  never  saw  you  as  pretty  as 
you  are  in  this  rig.  If  it  would  not  be  very  improper,  I'd 
like  to  kiss  you." 

He  was  astonished  at  his  own  boldness,  and  not  at  all 
surprised  at  Jerrie's  reply,  as  she  stepped  back  from  him  : 

"  No.  thank  you  ;  it  would  be  highly  improper  for  a 
man  who  stands  six  feet  in  his  boots,  to  kiss  a  girl  who 
stands  five  feet  six  in  her  slippers." 

There  was  a  flush  on  her  cheeks,  and  a  strange  look  in 
her  eyes,  for  she  was  thinking  of  Harvard,  where  he  had 
put  her  from  him,  ashamed  ihat  strangers  should  see  her 
kiss  him.  Harold  had  forgotten  that  incident,  which  at 
the  time  had  made  no  impr  ssion  upon  him,  and  was  now 
thin  King  only  of  the  beautiful  girl  who  e  presence  seemed 
to  brighten  and  ennoble  everything  with  which  she  came  in 


TEE    NEXT   DAT.  273 

contact  and  to  whom  he  at  last  said  good-by,  just  as 
Peterkin's  tower  clock  struck  for  half-past  five. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  he  said,  taking  up  his  basket  of 
brushes.  "  I  have  lost  a  full  half-hour  with  you,  and  your 
steaks,  and  your  coddling  me  generally.  I  ought  to  have 
been  there  by  this  time.  Good-by,"  and  offering  her  his 
hand,  he  started  down  the  lane  at  a  rapid  pace,  thinking 
the  morning  the  loveliest  he  had  ever  known,  and  wonder- 
ing why  everything  seemed  so  fresh,  and  bright,  and  sweet. 

If  he  could  have  sung,  he  would  have  done  so  ;  but  he 
could  not,  and  so  he  talked  to  himself,  and  to  the  birds, 
and  rabbits,  and  squirrels,  which  sprang  up  before  him  as 
he  struck  into  the  woods  as  the  shortest  route  to  Mr  Allen's 
farm-house — talked  to  them  of  Jerrie,  and  how  delightful 
it  was  to  have  her  home  again,  unspoiled  by  flattery,  sweet 
and  gracious  as  ever,  and  how  he  longed  to  tell  her  of  his 
love,  but  dared  not,  until  he  was  sure  of  her  and  of  what 
she  felt  for  him.  He  had  no  faith  now  in  her  fancies  with 
regard  to  herself.  Of  the  likeness  to  Arthur,  which  he 
thought,  he  saw  the  previous  day,  there  had  been  no  trace 
that  morning  when  he  pinned  the  rose  upon  her  bib.  She 
could  not  be  Gretchen's  daughter,  and  was  undoubtedly 
the  child  of  the  woman  found  dea,d  in  the  Tramp  House — 
his  Jerrie,  whom  he  had  found,  and  claimed  as  his  own, 
and  whom  he  meant  to  win  some  day,  when  he  had  his 
profession,  and  was  established  in  business. 

"  But  that  will  be  a  long,  long  time,  and  some  one  else 
may  steal  her  from  me,"  he  said  to  himself,  sadly,  as  he 
thought  of  the  years  whicL  must  elapse  before  he  could 
venture  to  take  a  wife.  "  Oh,  if  I  were  sure  she  cared  for 
me  as  I  do  for  her,  I  would  ask  her  now,  and  have  it  set- 
tled ;  for  Jerrie  is  not  a  girl  to  go  back  on  her  promise, 
and  the  years  would  seem  so  short,  and  the  work  so  easy, 
with  Jerrie  at  the  end  of  it  all,"  he  continued;  and  then 
he  wondered  how  he  could  find  out  the  nature  of  Jevrie's 
feeling  for  him  without  asking  her  directly,  and  so  spoiling 
everything  if  he  should  happen  to  be  premature. 

Would  his  grandmother  know  ?  Xot  at  all  likely.  She 
was  too  old  to  know  much  of  love,  or  its  symptoms  in  a 
girl.  Would  Nina  St.  Claire  know  ?  Possibly,  for  she 
and  JVrrie  were  great  friends,  and  girls  always  told  eadi 
other  their  secrets,  so  Maude  said,  and  Maude  was  just  then 


274  THE   NEXT   DAT. 

his  oracle.  He  had  seen  so  much  of  her  the  last  few 
months  that  he  felt  as  if  he  knew  her  even  better  than  he 
did  Jerrie,  and  he  was  certainly  more  at  his  ease  in  her 
presence.  Then  why  not  talk  with  Maude  and  enlist  her 
as  a  partisan.  He  might  certainly  venture  to  make  her  his 
confidant,  she  had  been  so  very  communicative  and  famil- 
iar with  him,  telling  him  things  which  he  had  wondered 
at,  with  regard  to  her  father,  and  mother,  and  Tom,  and 
the  family  generally.  Yes,  he  would  sound  Maude,  very 
cautiously  at  first,  and  get  her  opinion,  and  then  he  should 
know  better  what  to  do.  Maude  would  espouse  his  cause, 
he  was  sure,  for  she  worshiped  Jerrie.  He  could  trust  her, 
and  he  would. 

He  had  reached  the  Allen  farm-house  by  this  time,  and 
though  he  was  perspiring  at  every  pore,  for  the  morning 
was  very  hot,  he  scarcely  felt  the  heat  or  the  fatigue  of  his 
rapid  four-mile  walk,  as  he  mixed  his  paints  and  prepared 
for  his  work,  for  there  was  constantly  in  his  heart  a  thought 
of  Jerrie,  as  she  had  looked  in  that  bewitching  dress,  and 
of  the  bright  smile  she  had  given  him  when  she  said  good- 
ly- 

Meanwhile  Jerrie  had  watched  him  out  of  sight,  whist- 
ling merrily  : 

"  Gin  a  body  meet  a  body, 

Comin'  through  the  rye, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 
Need  a  body  cry  ?" 

And  whistling  it  so  loud  and  clear  that  Nannie  came  to 
the  fence  and  put  her  head  over  it  with  a  faint  low  of 
approval,  while  Clover-top  thrust  his  white  nose  through 
the  bars,  and  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  as  Jerrie  pulled  up 
handfuls  of  fresh  grass  and  fed  them  from  her  hands,  no- 
ticing that  Nannie  had  lost  her  knot  of  ribbon,  and  won- 
dering where  it  was.  Then  she  returned  to  the  house,  and 
was  busying  herself  with  preparations  for  her  grand- 
mother's breakfast  and  her  own,  when  the  latter  appeared 
in  the  kitchen,  surprised  to  find  her  there,  and  saying  : 

"Why,  Jerrie  what  made  you  get  up  till  I  called  you  ? 
Why  didn't  you  lie  and  rest  ?" 

"Lie  and  rest  \"  Jerrie  answered,  laughingly.  "It  is 
you  who  are  to  lie  and  rest,  and  not  a  great  overgrown  girl 


THE    NEXT   DAY.  275 

like  me.  I  have  given  Harold  his  breakfast  and  seen  him 
off.  I  cooked  him  half  the  fteak,"  she  added,  as  she  took 
out  the  remaining  half  and  put  it  on  the  gridiron.  "I 
don't  care  for  s,teak,"  she  continued,  as  she  saw  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford about  to  protest.  "I  would  rather  any  time  have 
bread  and  milk  and  strawberries.  I  shall  never  tire  of 
them  ;"  and  the  big  bowl  full,  which  she  ate  with  a  keen 
relish,  proved  that  she  spoke-  the  truth. 

"  IS'ow.  grandma,"  she  said,  when  breakfast  was  over. 
"  I  am  going  to  do  the  washing.  I  must  do  something  to 
work  oil'  my  superfluous  health,  and  strength,  and  muscle. 
Look  at  that  arm,  will  you  ?"  and  she  threw  out  her  bare 
arm.  which  for  whiteness  and  roundness  and  symmetry  of 
proportion,  might  have  been  coveted  by  the  most  fashion- 
able lady  in  the  land.  "Go  back  to  your  rocking-chair  and 
rest  your  dear,  old  lame  foot  on  your  softest  cushion,  and 
see  how  soon  I  will  have  everything  done.  It  is  just  seven 
now,  and  by  ten  we  shall  be  all  slicked  up,  as  Ann  Eliza 
Peterkin  says." 

It  was  of  no  use  to  try  to  resist  Jerrie.  She  would  have 
her  own  way;  and  so  Mrs.  Crawford,  after  skimming  her 
milk,  and  attending  to  the  cream,  went  to  her  rocking- 
chair  and  her  cushion,  and  sat  there  quietly,  while  Jerrie 
in  the  wood-shed  pounded  and  rubbed,  and  boiled  and 
rinsed,  and  wrung  and  starched  and  blued,  and  hung  upon 
the  line  article  after  article,  until  there  remained  only  a 
few  towels  and  aprons  and  stockings  and  socks,  and  a  pair 
of  colored  overalls  which  Harold  had  worn  at  his  work. 
As  these  last  were  rather  soiled  and  had  on  them  patches 
of  paint,  Jerrie  was  attacking  them  with  a  will,  when  her 
grandmother  called  out  with  great  trepidation  : 

"Jerrie,  Jerrie,  do  wipe  your  hands  and  come  quick  ! 
Here's  Tom  Tracy,  hitching  his  horse  to  the  gate." 

Jerrie's  first  impulse  was  to  do  as  her  grandmother  bade 
her,  and  her  second  to  stay  where  she  was. 

"If  Tom  chooses  to  call  so  early  he  must  take  me  as  he 
finds  me,"  she  thought,  while  to  her  grandmother  she  said  : 
"  Nonsense  !  Who  cares  for  Tom  Tracy  ?  If  he  asks  for 
me,  send  him  to  the  woodshed.  I  can't  stop  my  work." 

In  a  moment  the  elegant  Tom,  fresh  from  his  perfumed 
bath,  the  odor  of  which  still  lingered  about  him,  and  fault- 
lessly attired  in  a  cool  summer  suit,  was  bending  his  tall 


276  THE    NEXT   DAT. 

figure  in  the  door-way  of  the  woodshed,  where  Jerrie,  who 
was  rubbing  away  on  Harold's  overalls,  received  him  with  a 
nod  and  a  smile,  as  she  said  : 

"  Go- >d -mo ruing,  Tom.  You  are  up  early,  and  so  was 
I.  Business  before  pleasure,  you  know  ;  so  I  hope  you  will 
excuse  me  if  I  keep  right  on.  I  have  stinted  myself  to  get 
through,  mopping  and  all,  by  ten,  and  it  is  now  nine  by 
Peterkin's  bell.  Pray  be  seated.  How  is  Maude  ?" 

And  she  pointed  to  a  wooden  chair  near  the  door,  where 
Tom  sat  down,  wholly  nonplussed,  and  not  knowing  at  all 
what  to  say  first. 

Never  before  had  he  been  received  in  this  fashion,  and 
it  struck  him  that  there  was  something  incongruous 
between  himself,  in  his  dainty  attire,  with  a  cluster  of 
beautiful  roses  in  his  hand,  and  that  chair,  minus  a  back, 
in  the  woodshed,  where  the  smell  of  the  soap-suds  would 
have  made  him  faint  and  sick  if  he  had  not  been  near  the 
open  door. 

Tom  had  not  slept  well  the  previous  night.  He  had 
joined  the  fine  dinner-party  his  mother  had  given  to  the 
Harts,  and  St.  Claires,  and  Athertons,  and  had  sat  next  to 
Fred  Raymond's  sister  Marian,  a  very  pretty  young  girl 
with  a  good  deal  that  was  foreign  in  her.  style  and  in  her 
accent  for  she  had  been  in  Europe  nine  years,  and  had 
only  just  come  home.  Everything  in  her  manner  was  per- 
fect, and  Tom  acknowledged  to  himself  that  she  was  the 
most  highly  polished  and  cultivated  girl  he  had  ever  met ; 
and  still  she  tired  him,  and  he  was  constantly  contrasting 
her  with  Jerrie,  and  thinking  how  much  better  he  should 
enjoy  himself  if  she  were  there  beside  him,  with  her  ready 
wit  and  teasing  remarks,  which  frequently  amounted  to 
ridicule.  Jerrie  had  been  very  gracious  to  him  on  the 
train,  and  had  laughed  and  joked  with  him  quite  as  much 
as  she  had  with  Dick  St.  Claire. 

"  Perhaps  she  likes  me  more  than  I  have  supposed  she 
did,"  he  thought.  "  Any  way,  I'd  better  be  on  hand,  now 
she  is  at  home  and  can  see  Harold  every  day.  He  don't 
care  a  copper  for  Maude,  or  wouldn't  if  she  didn't  run 
after  hjm  so  much,  and  that  will  sicken  him  pretty  soon, 
now  that  he  has  Jerrie.  By  George,  I  believe  I'd  be  as 
poor  as  he  is,  and  paint  for  a  living  if  I  couldn't  have  Jer- 
rie without  it.  But  I  think  I  can ;  any  way,  I'm  going  to 


IHE    NEXT   DAY.  277 

try.  She  cannot  be  insensible  to  the  advantage  it  would  be 
to  her  to  be  my  wife,  and  eventually  the  mistress  of  Tracy 
Park.  There  is  not  a  girl  in  the  world  who  vonld  not  con- 
sider twice  before  she  threw  such  a  chance  away." 

Such  was  the  nature  of  Tom's  reflection  sail  through  the 
dinner,  and  the  short  summer  night  during  which  he  was 
plannirg  his  mode  of  attack. 

"  I'll  call  in  tlie  morning  and  take  her  some  roses  :  she 
likes  flowers,"  he  thought.  "I  wonder  what  she  did  with 
those  I  gave  her  at  Vassar  ?  They  were  not  with  her  in  the 
car,  unless  she  had  them  in  that  paper  box  she  carried  so 
carefully.  Yes,  I  guess  they  were  there,  and  I  shall  see 
them  standing  round  somewhere." 

And  this  was  the  secret  of  Torn'*  early  call.  He  had 
thought  at  first  to  walk,  but  had  changed  his  mind,  and 
driven  down  to  the  cottage  in  his  light  bugsy,  with  the 
intention  of  asking  Jerrie  to  drive  with  him  along  the  river 
road.  But  she  did  not  look  much  like  driving  as  she 
stood  by  the  wash  tub  in  that  \vorking-dress,  which  he 
thought  the  most  charming  of  anything  he  had  ever  seen. 

"  I  was  coming  this  way,"  he  said  at  last,  "and  thought 
I'd  stop  and  see  how  you  stood  the  journey,  and  I've 
brought  you  some  roses." 

He  held  them  toward  her,  and  with  a  smile  she  came 
forward  to  receive  them. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Tom,"  she  said,  "it  was  so  kind  in 
you.  Roses  are  my  favorites  after  the  white  pond  lilies, 
and  these  are  very  sweet." 

She  buried  her  face  in  them  two  or  three  times,  and 
then,  putting  them  in  some  water,  resumed  her  position  by 
the  wash-tub. 

"  I'd  like  you  to  drive  with  me,"  Tom  said,  "  but 
yon  are  too  busy.     Must  you  do  that  work,  Jerrie  ? 
somebody — can't  your  grandmother  do  it  for  yon  ?" 

"  Grandmother  !  That  old  lady  do  my  washing  !  No, 
indeed  !"  Jerrie  answered,  scornfully,  as  she  made  a  dive 
into  the  boiler  with  the  clothes-stick  and  brought  out  a 
pair  of  Mrs.  Crawford's  long  knit  stockings,  which  she 
dropped  into  the  rinsing  water  with  a  splash.  "Grandma 
has  worked  enough,"  she  continued,  as  she  plunged  both 
her  arms  into  the  water.  "  Harold  and  I  shall  take  care 
of  her  now.  He  was.  up  this  morning  at  four  o'clock,  and 


278  THE    NEXT   DAT. 

has  gone  to  Mr.  Allen's,   to  paint  a  room  for  him   like 
mine." 

She  said  this  a  little  defiantly,  for  she  felt  hot  and 
resentful  that  Tom  Tracy  should  be  Bitting  there  at  hi? 
ease,  while  Harold  was  working  for  his  dai'y  bread,  and 
also  took  a  kind  of  bitter  pride  in  letting  Tom  know  that 
she  was  not  ashamed  of  Harold's  work. 

"  Yes,"  Tom  drawled,  "  that  new  room  must  have  <•<  st 
Hal  his  bottom  dollar.  We  all  wondered  how  he  could 
affoid  it.  I  hope  you  like  it." 

She  was  too  angry  to  tell  him  whether  she  liked  it  or 
not,  for  she  knew  his  speech  was  pr  mipted  by  a  mean 
spirit,  and  she  kept  on  rubbing  a  towel  until  there  was 
danger  of  its  being  rubbed  into  shreds.  Then  suddenly 
remembering  that  Tom  had  not  told  her  of  Maude,  she 
repeated  her  question. 

"  How  is  Maude  ?  She  was  coming  to  see  me  this 
morning.  I  hope  I  shall  have  my  work  done  before  she 
gets  here." 

"Don't  hurry  yourself  for  Maude,"  Tom  replied. 
"  She  will  not  be  here  to-day.  I  had  nearly  forgotten 
that  she  sent  her  love  and  wants  you  to  come  there.  She 
is  sick  in  bed,  or  was  when  I  left.  She  had  a  slight  hem- 
orrhage last  night.  I  think  it  was  from  her  stomach, 
though,  and  so  does  mother  ;  but  father  is  scared  to  death, 
as  he  always  is  if  Maude  has  a  pain  in  her  little  finger." 

"Oh,  Tom,"  Jerrie  said,  recalling  with  a  pang  the' thin 
face,  the  blue-veined  hands,  and  the  tired  look  of  the 
young  girl  at  the  station.  "  Oh,  Tom,  why  didn't  you 
tell  me  before,  so  I  could  hurry  and  go  to  her ; "  and  lean- 
ing over  her  tub,  Jerrie  began  to  cry,  while  Tom  looked 
curiously  at  her,  wondering  if  she  really  cared  so  much  for 
his  sister. 

"  Don't  cry,  Jerrie,"  he  said,  at  last,  very  tenderly  for 
him,  "  Maude  is  not  so  bad  ;  the  doctor  has  no  fear.  She 
is  only  tired  with  all  she  has  done  lately.  You  know,  per- 
haps, that  she  was  here  constantly  with  Harold,  and  I 
believe  she  actually  painted  for  him  some,  and  for  aught  I 
know  helped  shingle  the  roof,  as  Billy  said." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  I  understand,"  Jerrie  replied.  "I  saw 
it  in  her  face  yesterday.  She  has  tired  herself  out  for  me, 
and  if  she  dies  I  shall  hate  the  room  forever." 


TUB    NEXT    DAT.  279 

"  But  she  will  not  die  ;  that  is  nonsense,"  Tom  began, 
when  he  was  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Crawford,  who  called 
out  : 

"  Oh,  Jerrie,  here  is  Billy  Peterkin,  with  his  hands  full. 
What  shall  I  do  with  him  ?" 

Dashing  away  her  tears,  Jerrie  replied : 

"  Send  him  in  here,  of  course." 

In  a  few  moments  the  dapper  little  man  was  in  the 
wood-shed,  with  a  large  bouquei  of  hot-house  flowers  in  one 
hand  and  a  basket  of  delicious  black-caps  in  the  other. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  staring  first  at  Tom  on  the  wooden 
ch;dr  glaring  savagely  at  him,  and  then  at  Jerrie  by  the 
washtub  wiih  tlm  traces  of  tears  on  her  face — then,  with  a 
kind  of  forced  laugh,  he  said  : 

"  Be-beg  pardon,  if  I  in-tr-trude.  Looks  dusedly  like 
1-love  in  a  t-t-tub." 

"  And  if  it  is,  you  have  knocked  the  bottom  out,"  Tom 
said  to  him. 

Both  jokes  were  atrocious,  but  they  made  Jerrie  laugh, 
which  was  something.  She  was  glad  on  the  whole  that 
Billy  had  come,  and  when  he  offered  her  the  berries  and 
the  flowers,  she  accepted  them  graciously,  and  bade  him  sit 
down,  if  he  could  find  a  seat. 

"  Here  is  one  on  the  wash  bench."  she  said,  "  or,  will  be 
when  I  have  emptied  the  tub  ;"  and  she  was  about  to  take 
up  the  latter,  when  Billy  sprang  to  her  assistance  and 
emptied  it  himself,  while  Tom  sat  looking  on,  chafing  with 
anger  and  disgust. 

After  a  moment  Billy  stuttered  out  : 

"Ann  Eliza  s-s-sent  me  here,  and  wants  you  to  c-c-come 
and  see  her  rooms.  G-g-got  a  suite,  you  know ;  and,  by 
Jove,  they  are  like  a  b-b-bazaar,  they  are  so  f-f  all  of  things', 
and  flowers  ;  half  Va-sar  is  there.  Got  your  basket  of  dai- 
sies, Tom,  and  when  I  asked  her  where  she  g-g-got  'em, 
she  said  it  was  n-n-none  of  my  business.  D-did  she  steal 
'em  ?"  and  he  turned  to  Jerrie,  whose  face  was  scarlet,  as 
she  replied  : 

"No,  I  gave  them  to  her,  with  a  lot  of  others;  I 
couldn't  bring  them  all." 

Tom  could  have  beaten  the  air,  te  was  so  angry.  He 
had  been  vain  enough  to  hope  that  his  gift  was  carefully 
put  away  in  some  box  or  parcel ;  and  lo  !  it  was  in  the  pos- 


280  TEE    NEXT   DAY. 

session  of  that  red-haired  Peterkin  girl,  whose  pencJiant  for 
himself  he  suspected,  and  whom  lie  despised  accordingly. 

"  Much  obliged  to  you  fur  giving  away  my  flowers,"  he 
was  going  to  say,  when  Mrs.  Crawford  called  again,  and 
this  time  in  real  distress. 

"  Jerrie,  Jerne  !  you  must  come  now,  for  here  is  Dick 
St.  Claire." 

For  an  instant  Jerrie  hesitated,  and  then,  ashamed  of 
the  feeling  which  had  at  first  prompted  her  not  to  let  Dick 
into  the  wood-shed,  she  replied  : 

"  If  Tom  and  Billy  can  be  admitted  to  my  boudoir, 
Dick  can.  Send  him  in." 

"  By  George,  this  is  jolly  !"  Dick  said,  as  he  seated  him- 
self upon  the  inverted  washtub  which  Billy  had  emptied. 
"  Have  you  all  been  washing  ?" 

"  No,"  Jerrie  answered,  proudly.  ' '  I  am  the  washer- 
woman, and  all  those  clothes  you  see  on  the  line  are  my 
handiwork." 

"  By  George  !"  Dick  said  again.  "You  are  a  trump  ! 
Jerrie,  why  didn't  you  wear  that  dress  when  you  were  grad- 
uated ?  It's  the  prettiest  costume  I  ever  saw." 

"  Th-that's  what  I  think,  only  I  d-didn't  d-dare  t-tell 
her  so  !"  Billy  ericd,  springing  to  his  feet  and  hopping 
about  like  a  little  sparrow. 

"  IIow  is  Nina  ?"  Jerrie  asked,  ignoring  the  compli- 
ment. 

"  Brisk  as  a  bee,"  Dick  replied,  "  and  sends  an  invita- 
tion for  you  and  Hal  to  come  over  to  a  garden-tea  to-night 
to  meet  Marian  Raymond,  Fred's  sister.  Awful  pretty 
girl,  witli  an  accent  like  a  foreigner  ;  was  over  there  several 
years,  you  know.  1  was  going  to  the  Park  House  to  invite 
you  and  Maude,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Tom,  "but  as 
you  are  here,  it  will  save  me  the  walk.  Half-past  five 
sharp." 

Then,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  Billy,  in  whose  face  there 
was  a  look  of  expectancy,  his  countenance  clouded,  for 
Nina  had  given  him  no  instructions  to  invite  the  Peterkins, 
and  he  felt  that  there  was  nothing  in  common  between 
Ann  Eliza  Peterkin  and  the  refined  and  aristocratic 
Marian  Raymond,  who  had  seen  the  best  society  in  Europe, 
jind  in  whose  veins  some  of  Kentucky's  bluest  blood  was 
flowing.  But  Dick  was  very  kind-hearted,  and  never^ 


THE    NEXT   DAT.  281 

knowingly  wounded  the  feelings  of  any  one  if  he  could 
lulp  it  ;  and,  after  an  awkward  moment,  during  which  lie 
was  wondering  what  Nina  would  do  to  him  if  he  did  it,  he 
turned  to  Billy  and  said,  as  naturally  as  if  it  were  what  he 
had  been  expressly  bidden  to  say : 

"  Why,  1  sha'n't  have  to  walk  over  to  Le  Bateau  either. 
I'm  in  luck  this  hot  morning,  if  you  will  take  the  invita- 
tion to  your  sister— for  half-past  five." 

"Tli-thanks,"  Billy  began  ;  "  b-but  am  I  left  out  ?" 

"  Of  course  not.  I'm  an  awful  blunderer,"  Dick  said, 
adding,  mentally,  "and  liar,  too,  though  I  didn't  say  any- 
body would  be  happy  to  see  them.  Poor  Billy,  he  is  well 
enough,  and  so  is  Ann  Eliza,  if  she  wouldn't  pile  that  red 
hair  so  high  on  the  top  of  her  head  and  wear  so  much 
jewelry.  Well,  I  am  in  for  it,  and  Nina  can't  any  more 
than  kill  me." 

By  this  time  Jerrie  was  putting  away  the  washing  para- 
phernalia and  sweeping  the  wood-shed,  thus  indicating  that 
she  had  no  more  time  to  lose  with  her  three  callers,  two  of 
whom  Dick  and  Billy,  took  the  hint  and  left,  but  not 
until  she  had  explained  to  the  former  that  she  feared  it 
would  be  impossible  for  Harold  to  be  present  at  the  garden- 
party,  as  she  knewr  he  would  not  be  home  until  late,  and 
would  then  be  quite  too  tired  for  company. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  he  cannot  join  us.  I  counted  upon 
him,"  Dick  said.  "  But  you  will  come,  of  course,  and  I 
offer  my  services  on  the  spot  to  see  you  home.  Do  you 
accept  them  ?" 

Jerrie  seemed  to  see,  without  looking,  the  disappoint- 
ment in  Billy's  face,  and  the  wrath  in  Tom's;  but  as  she 
greatly  preferred  Dick's  society  to  theirs  in  a  walk  from 
(ira-.-y  Spring  to  the  cottage,  she  accepted  his  offer,  and 
then  said,  laughingly  : 

"  Now,  good-morning  to  you,  and  good  riddance,  too, 
for  I  am  in  an  awful  hurry.  I  am  going  over  to  see  Maude 
as  soon  as  1  can  get  myself  ready." 

She  had  not  thought  that  Tom  would  wait  for  her,  and 
would  greatly  have  preferred  to  walk  ;  but  Tom  was  per- 
sistent, and  moving  his  chair  from  the  wood-shed  outside 
into  the  shade  where  it  was  cooler,  he  sat  fanning  himself 
with  his  hat,  and  watching  the  lon<r  line  of  clothes,  flop- 
ping in  the  wind,  with  a  feeling  of  mortified  pride,  as  if 


282  THE    NEXT    DAY. 

his  o\vn  wife  had  washed  them.  He  knew  that  his 
mother  had  once  been  familiar  with  tubs,  and  wash-boards, 
and  soap-suds,  but  that  was  before  his  day.  Twenty-seven 
years  had  wiped  all  that  out,  and  ho  really  felt  that  to  be  a 
Tracy  and  live  at  Tracy  Park  was  an  honor  scarcely  less 
than  to  be  President  of  the  United  States,  and  Jerric,  he 
was  sure,  would  see  it  as  such,  when  once  the  chance  was 
offered  her.  She  could  not  be  so  blind  to  her  own  interest 
as  to  refuse  one  who  was  so  much  sought  after  by  the  belles 
of  Saratoga  and  Newport,  where  he  had  spent  a  part  of  two 
or  three  seasons.  He  had  been  best  man  at  the  great 

wedding  in  Springfield,  and  groomsman  at  another 

big  affair  in  Boston,  and  had  scores  of  invitations  every- 
where. Taken  all  together,  he  was  a  most  desirable  parti, 
and  he  was  rather  surprised  himself  at  his  infatuation  for 
the  girl  whom  he  had  found  in  the  suds,  and  who  was  not 
ashamed  that  he  had  thus  seen  her.  This  was  while  he 
was  watching  the  clothes  on  the  line,  and  scowling  at  three 
pairs  of  coarse,  vulgar  stockings  which  he  -knew  belonged 
to  Mrs.  Crawford,  and  at  the  pair  of  blue  overalls  which 
were  Harold's. 

"  Yes,  I  do  wonder  at  my  interest  in  that  nameless  girl, 
whose  mother  was  a  common  peasant  woman/'  he  thought ; 
but  when  the  nameless  girl  appeared,  fresh,  and  bright, 
and  dainty,  as  if  she  had  never  seen  a  wash-tub,  with  her 
hat  on  her  arm,. and  two  of  his  roses  pinned  on  the  bosom 
of  her  dress,  he  forgot  the  peasant  woman,  and  the  lack  of 
a  name,  and  thought  only  of  the  lovely  girl  who  signified 
that  she  was  ready. 

It  was  very  cool  in  the  pine  woods,  where  the  heat  of 
the  summer  morning  had  not  yet  penetrated,  and  Tom, 
who  was  enjoying  himself  immensely,  suggested  that  they 
leave  the  park,  and  take  a  short  drive  on  the  river  road. 
But  Jerrie  said,  "  No  P  very  decidedly.  It  would  be  hot, 
there,  and  she  was  anxious  to  be  with  Maude  as  soon  as 
possible.  So  they  drove  on  until  they  reached  the  grounds 
which  surrounded  the  house,  and  where  they  were  met  by 
Mr.  Tracy. 


AT    THE    PARK   HOUSE.  283 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

AT     THE     PARK     HOUSE. 

IT  was  iix  iponths  since  Jerrie  had  seen  Frank  Tracy, 
and  in  that  time  he  had  changed  so  much  that  she 
looked  f,t  him  wonderingly  as  he  came  toward  her  with  a 
smile  on  Lis  haggard  face,  wnd  an  eager  welcome  in  his 
voico,  as  he  gave  her  both  his  hands,  and  told  her  how 
gj-ut  ho  was  to  see  her. 

His  hair  was  very  white,  and  she  noticed  how  he 
stooped  as  he  walked  wit'i  her  to  the  house,  and  told  her 
how  anxiously  Maude  was  waiting  for  her. 

"  But  she  cannot  talk  just  yet,"  he  said.  "You  must 
do  all  that.  The  doctor  tells  us  there  is  no  danger  if  she  is 
kept  quiet  for  a  few  days.  Oh,  Jerrie,  what  if  I  should 
lose  Maude  after  all  " 

They  were  ascending  the  staircase  now,  and  Frank  was 
holding  J (.Trie's  hand  while  she  tried  to  comfort  and  reas- 
sure him,  and  then  thanked  him  for  the  fruit  and  the 
(lowers  he  had  sent  to  the  cottage  for  her  the  day  before. 

"You  are  so  good  to  me,"  she  said,  "you  and  Mr. 
Arthur.  How  lonely  the  house  seems  without  him." 

"  Yes,"  Frank  replied,  though  in  his  heart  he  felt  his 
brother's  absence  as  a  relief,  for  his  presence  was  a  constant 
reproach  to  him,  and  helped  to  keep  alive  the  remorse 
which  \vas  always  tormenting  him. 

The  sight  of  Jerrie  was  a  pain,  but  she  held  a  nameless 
fascination  for  him,  and  he  was  constantly  wondering  what 
she  would  say  and  do  when  she  knew,  as  he  was  morally 
sure  she  would  sometime  know  what  he  had  done.  He 
was  thinking  of  this  now,  and  saying  to  himself,  "  She 
will  nut  be  ae  hard  upon  me  as  Arthur,"  as  he  lead  her  up 
the  stairs  and  stopped  at  the  door  of  Arthur's  rooms. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  in  ?"  he  asked.  "I  have  the 
keys."  and  he  proceeded  to  unlock  the  door. 

But  Jerrie  held  back. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it  is  like  a  grave.  The  ruling  spirit 
is  gone," 


284  AT    TEE    PAKE    HOUSE. 

"  But  you  forget  Gretchen.  She  is  here,  and  one  of 
Arthur's  last  injunctions  was  that  I  should  visit  her  every 
day,  and  tell  her  he  was  coming  back.  I  have  not  seen  her 
this  morning.  Come.'" 

He  was  leading  her  now  by  the  wrist  through  the  front 
parlor,  where  the  furniture  in  its  white  shrouds  looked 
like  ghosts,  and  the  pictures  were  covered  with  tarleton. 
It  was  dark,  too,  in  the  Gretchen  room,  but  Frank  threw 
open  the  blinds  and  let  in  a  flood  of  light  upon  the  picture, 
before  which  Jerrie  stood  with  feelings  such  as  she  had 
never  experienced  before,  when  she  looked  upon  that  lovely 
face. 

A  new  idea  had  taken  possession  of  Jerrie  since  she  had 
last  seen  that  picture,  and  while,  unsuspected  by  her, 
Frank  was  studying  first  her  features  and  then  those  of 
Gretchen,  she  was  struggling  frantically  with  memories 
of  the  past. 

"Oh,  I  can  almost  remember,"  she  whispered,  just  as 
Frank's  voice  broke  the  spell  by  saying  : 

"  Good-morning,  Gretchen.  Arthur  is  in  California, 
but  he  is  coming  back  ;  he  bade  me  tell  you  so." 

"  Is  he  crazy  as  well  as  Mr.  Arthur  ?  Are  we  all  crazy 
together  ?"  Jerrie  asked  herself,  as  she  watched  him  clos- 
ing the  blinds  and  shutting  out  the  sunlight  from  the  room, 
so  that  the  picture  was  in  shadow. 

"I  have  kept  my  promise  to  Arthur;  and  now  for 
Maude,"  Frank  said,  as  he  accompanied  Jerrie  to  Maude's 
room. 

On  the  threshold  they  met  Mrs.  Frank,  jnst  coming  out, 
elegantly  attired  in  a  muslin  wrapper,  with  more  lace  and 
embroidery  upon  it  than  Jerrie  had  ever  worn  in  her  life  ; 
her  hair  was  carefully  dressed,  her  face  was  powdered,  and 
her  manner  was  one  of  languor  and  fineladyism,  which  die 
had  cultivated  so  assiduously  and  achieved  so  successfully. 
Not  a  muscle  of  her  face  changed  when  she  saw  Jerrio,  but 
she  closed  Maude's  door  quickly,  and  stepping  into  the 
hall,  offered  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  as  she  said,  in  a  fretful, 
rather  than  a  welcoming  tone  : 

"  Good-morning.  You  are  very  late.  Maude  expected 
you  two  hours  ago,  almost  immediately  after  Tom  went 
out.  She  has  worked  herself  into  a  great  state  of  feverish 
nervousness," 


AT    THE   PARK   HOTT8B.  285 

"lam  so  sorry,"  Jerrie  replied.  "But  1  could  not 
come  sooner.  I  had  a  large  washing  to  do,  and  that  takes 
time,  you  know." 

Jerrie  meant  no  reflection  upon  the  days  when  Dolly 
had  done  her  own  washing,  and  knew  that  it  took  time, 
but  the  lady  thought  she  did,  and  a  frown  settled  upon  her 
face,  as  she  replied  : 

"  Surely  your  grandmother  might  have  helped  you,  or 
Harold  ;  and  Maude  is  so  impatient  and  weak  this  morn- 
ing. The  doctor  says  there  is  no  danger  if  she  is  kept 
quiet.  She  is  only  tired  out,  with  that  room  of  yours. 
Why.  I  am  told  she  has  actually  puttied  up  nail  holes,  and 
painted  walls,  and  sawed  boards  !  I  hope  you  like  it.  You 
ought  to,  for  a  part  of  Maude's  life  and  strength  is  in  it." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Tracy,"  Jerrie  cried,  "  I  am  so  sorry.  Of 
course  I  like  the  room,  or  did  ;  but  if  it  has  injured  Maude, 
I  shall  hate  it." 

Dolly  had  given  her  a  little  stab  and  was  satisfied,  so 
she  said,  in  a  softer  tone  : 

"  Maude  may  recover — I  think  she  will  ;  but  every- 
thing must  be  done  to  please  her,  and  she  cannot  talk  to 
you  this  morning — remember  that,  and  you  must  not  stay 
too  long." 

"  Mamma — mamma,  let  Jerrie  in/'  came  faintly  from 
the  closed  room  ;  and  then  Mrs.  Tracy  stood  aside  and  let 
Jerrie  pass  into  the  luxurious  apartment,  where  Maude  lay 
upon  a  silken  couch,  with  a  soft,  rose-colored  shawl  thrown 
over  her  shoulders,  her  eyes  large  and  bright,  and  her  face 
as  white  almost  as  a  corpse. 

One  looking  at  her  needed  not  to  be  told  of  the  peril 
there  was  in  exciting  her  ;  and  Jerrie  felt  a  cold  chill  creep 
over  her  as  she  went  to  the  couch,  and,  kneeling  beside  it, 
kissed  the  quivering  lips  and  smoothed  the  dark  hair,  whili 
she  tried  to  speak  naturally  and  cheerfully,  as  if  in  her  mind 
there  was  no  thought  of  danger  to  the  beautiful  girl,  who 
smiled  so  lovingly  upon  her  and  kept  caressing  her  hands 
and  her  face,  as  if  she  would  thus  express  her  gladness  to 
see  her. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,  Maude,"  Jerrie  said.  "  Tom  told 
me,  and  your  mother.  You  tired  yourself  out  for  me. 
Hush  !  Don't  speak,  or  I  shall  go  away,"  she  continued, 
as  she  saw  Maude's  lips  move.  "  You  are  not  to  talk. 


28G  AT    THE    PARK   HOUSE. 

You  are  to  listen,  just  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  you  will 
be  better,  and  come  to  the  cottage  and  see  my  lovely  room. 
It  is  so  pretty,  and  I  like  it  so  much,  and  thank  you  and 
Harold  so  m:;ch.  He  has  gone  to  the  Allen  farm  to-day  to 
paint/'  she  said,  in  answer  to  an  eager,  questioning  look  in 
Maude's  eyes.  "  He  does  not  know  you  are  sick.  He  will 
come  when  he  can  see  you — to-morrow,  maybe.  Would 
you  like  to  have  him  ?" 

A  pressure  of  the  hand  was  Maude's  reply,  as  the  mois 
ture  gathered  upon  her  heavy  eyelashes.  But  Jerrie  kissed 
it  away,  and  then  talked  to  her  of  whatever  she  thought 
would  please  her.  Once  she  made  her  laugh,  as  she  took 
off  little  Billy,  imitating  his  voice  so  perfectly  that  a  per- 
son outside  would  have  said  he  was  in  the  room.  Jerrie's 
talent  for  imitation  and  ventriloquism  had  not  deserted 
her,  although  she  did  not  so  often  practice  it  as  when  a 
child ;  but  she  brought  it  into  full  play  now  to  amuse 
Maude,  and  imitated  every  individual  of  whom  she  spoke, 
except  Arthur.  He  was  the  one  person  whose  peculiari- 
ties she  could  not  take  off. 

"I  have  been  to  Mr.  Arthur's  room,"  she  said,  "but  it 
seemed  so  desolate  without  him.  Do  you  hear  from  him 
often  ?  I  have  only  had  one  letter,  and  then  he  was  in 
Salt  Lake  City,  at  the  Continental,  in  a  room  which  ho 
said  was  big  enough  for  three  rooms,  and  had  not  a  single 
bad  smell  in  it,  except  the  curtains,  which  were  new,  and 
in  which  he  did  detect  a  little  odor." 

Here  Maude  laughed  again,  while  there  came  into  hei 
face  a  faint  color  and  a  look  which  made  Jerrie's  breath 
come  quickly  as,  for  the  first  time,  the  thought  flashed 
across  her  mind  that  if  what  she  had  been  foolish  enough 
to  dream  of  were  true,  Maude  was  her  cousin — her  own 
flesh  and  blood. 

"  Maude,"  she  said,  suddenly,  with  a  strong  desire  to 
fold  the  frail  little  body  in  her  arms  and  tell  her  what  she 
had  thought. 

But  when  Maude  looked  up  inquiringly  at  her,  she  only 
put  her  head  down  upon  the  shawl  and  began  to  cry. 
Then,  regardless  of  consequences,  Maude  raised  hersdf 
upon  her  elbow  and  laying  her  face  on  Jerrie's  head,  began 
herself  to  cry  piteously. 

"  Jerrie,  Jerrie,"  she  sobbed,  "*$QU  think  I  am  going 


UNDER    THE   PINES    WITH    TOM.  287 

to  die,  I  know  you  do,  and  so  does  everybody,  but  I  am 
not ;  I  cannot  die  when  there  is  so  much  to  live  for,  and 
my  home  is  so  beautiful,  and  I  love  everybody  so  much, 
and—" 

Terrified  beyond  measure,  Jerrie  put  her  hand  over 
Maude's  mouth  and  suid,  almost  sharply  : 

"  If  you  want  to  live  you  must  not  talk.  Be  careful 
and  you  will  get  well,  the  doctor  says  so." 

But  Jerrie's  fears  belied  her  words  when  she  saw  the 
pallor  in  Maude's  face  as  she  sank  back  upon  her  pillow 
exhausted,  while,  with  her  handkerchief  she  wiped  a  faint 
coloring  of  blood  from  her  lips. 

"  I  have  staid  too  long,"  Jerrie  said,  as  she  arose  from 
her  seat  by  the  couch.  Then  Maude  spoke  again  in  a 
whisper : 

"  Send  Harold  soon." 

"  I  will,"  Jerrie  replied,  and  kissing  the  death-like  face 
she  went  softly  from  the  room,  thinking  to  herself,  as  she 
descended  the  stairs,  "I  believe  I  could  give  Harold  to 
her  now." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

TTNDEE  THE   PINES  WITH  TOM. 

TERRTE  found  Tom  just  where  she  had  left  him,  on  the 
*)  piazza  outside,  waiting  for  her,  it  would  seem,  for  the 
moment  she  appeared  he  arose,  and  going  with  her  down 
tin'  steps  walked  by  her  side  along  the  avenue  toward  the 
point  where  she  would  turn  aside  into  the  road  which  led 
to  the  cottage. 

"  How  did  you  find  Maude  ?"  he  asked. 

"Weaker  than  I  supposed,"  Jerrie  replied,  "and  so 
tired.  Oh,  Tom,  I  know  she  hurt  herself  worrying  about 
my  room  as  she  did,  and  what  if  she  .should  die  ?" 

"  Nonsense-,"  Torn  answered,  carelessly.  "  Maude 
won't  die.  She's  got  the  Tracy  constitution,  which  noth- 
ing can  kill.  Dou't  fre^  about  your  room.  Maude  liked 


288  UNDER    THE    PINES     WITH    TOM. 

being  there.  Nothing  could  keep  her  away.  And  don't 
flatter  yourself  that  it  was  all  love  for  you  which  took  her 
there  so  much,  for  it  wasn't.  She  is  just  mashed  with 
Harold,  while  he — well,  what  can  a  young  man  do  when  a 
pretty  girl — and  Maude  is  pretty — when  she  gushes  at  him 
all  the  time  ?  It  is  a  regular  flirtation,  and  everybody 
knows  about  it  except  mother  and  the  Gov." 

"  Who  is  the  Gov.?"  Jerrie  asked,  sharply 

"  Why,  you  Vassars  must  be  very  innocent,"  Tom 
replied,  with  a  laugh,  "not  to  know  that  Gov.  is  one's 
respected  sire  ;  the  old  man,  some  call  him,  but  I  am  more 
respectful.  My  gracious,  though  !  isn't  it  sweltering  ? 
I'm  nearly  baked,  you  make  me  walk  so  fast  I"  and  he 
wiped  the  great  drops  of  sweat  from  his  forehead. 

"Why  don't  you  go  back,  then  ?"  Jerrie  asked. 

"  I  am  going  home  with  you,"  he  replied.  "  Do  you 
think  I'd  let  you  go  alone  ?" 

"  Go  alone  ?"  Jerrie  repeated,  stopping  short  and  fixing 
her  blue  eyes  upon  him.  "  You  have  let  me  go  alone  a 
hundred  times,  and  after  dark,  too,  when  I  was  much 
smaller  than  I  am  now,  and  less  able  to  defend  myself,  sup- 
posing there  was  anything  to  fear,  which  there  is  not. 
Pray  go  back,  and  not  trouble  yourself  for  me." 

"I  shall  not  go  back,"  Tom  said.  "I  waited  on  pur- 
pose to  come  with  you.  There  is  something  I  must  say  to 
you,  and  I  may  as  well  say  it  now  as  any  other  time." 

Jerrie  was  tall,  but  Tom  was  six  inches  taller,  and  he 
was  looking  down  into  her  eyes  with  an  expression  in  his 
before  which  hers  fell,  for  she  guessed  what  it  was  he  wished 
to  say  to  her,  and  her  heart  beat  painfully  as,  without  an- 
other word,  she  walked  rapidly  on  until  they  were  in  the 
woods  near  a  place  where  four  tall  pines  formed  a  kind  of 
oblong  square.  Here  an  iron  seat  had  been  placed  years 
before,  when  the  Tracy  children  were  young,  and  held  what 
they  called  their  picnics  under  the  thick  boughs  of  the 
pines  which  shaded  them  from  both  heat  and  cold.  Laying 
his  hand  on  Jerrie's  shoulder,  Tom  said  to  her : 

"  Sit  here  with  me  under  the  pines  while  I  tell  you  what 
for  a  long  time  I  have  wanted  to  tell  you,  and  which  may 
as  well  be  told  at  once." 

Jerrie  did  not  speak,  but  she  sat  down  upon  the  seat, 
and,  taking  off  her  hat,  began  to  fan  herself  with  it,  while 


UNDER    THE    P2XES    WITH    TOM.  289 

with  the  end  of  her  parasol  she  tried  to  trace  letters  in  the 
thick  carpet  of  dead  pine  needles  at  her  feet. 

Her  attitude  was  not  encouraging,  and  a  less  conceited 
man  than  Tom  would  have  felt  disheartened,  but  he  was 
not.  No  girl  would  be  insane  enough  to  refuse  Tom  Tracy, 
of  Tracy  Park  ;  and  at  last  he  made  the  plunge  and  told 
her  of  his  love  for  her  and  his  desire  to  make  her  his  wife. 

"I  know  I  was  a  mean  little  scamp  when  I  was  a  boy/' 
he  said,  "and  did  a  lot  of  things  for  which  I  am  ashamed  ; 
but  I  always  thought  you  the  prettiest  little  girl  I  ever  saw, 
and  now  I  think  you  the  prettiest  big  one,  and  I  have  had 
splendid  opportunities  for  seeing  girls.  You  know  I  have 
traveled  a  great  deal,  and  been  in  the  very  best  society  ; 
and  if  I  may  say  it,  I  think  I  can  marry  almost  any  one 
whom  I  choose.  J  used  to  fear  lest  }'ou  and  Hal  would  hit 
it  off  together,  or,  rather,  that  he  would  try  to  get  you,  but, 
since  he  and  Maude  are  so  thick,  my  fears  in  that  quarter 
have  vanished,  and  I  am  constantly  building  castles  as  to 
what  we  will  do.  I  did  not  mean  to  ask  you  quite  so  soon, 
but  the  sight  of  you  this  morning  washing  your  clothes, 
with  all  that  soapy  steam  in  your  face,  decided  me  not  to 
put  it  off.  A  Tracy  has  no  business  in  a  wnshtub." 

"Did  no  Tracy  ever  wash  her  own  clothes  ?"  Jerrie 
asked  with  an  upward  and  sidewise  turn  of  her  head, 
habitual  with  her  when  startled  or  stirred. 

There  was  a  ring  in  her  voice  which  Tom  did  not  quite 
like,  but  he  answered,  promptly  : 

"  Oh,  of  course,  years  ago ;  but  times  change,  and  you 
certainly  ought  not  to  be  familiar  with  such  vulgar  things, 
and  at  Tracy  Park  you  will  be  surrounded  with  every 
possible  luxury.  Father,  and  Maude,  and  Uncle  Arthur 
will  be  overjoyed  to  have  you  there;  and  if,  on  my  part, 
love  and  money  can  make  you  happy,  you  certainly  will 
be  so." 

"  You  have  plenty  of  money  of  your  own  ?"  Jerrie  said, 
with  another  upward  toss  of  her  golden  head. 

The  question  was  full  of  sarcasm,  but  Tom  did  not  de- 
tect it.  and  answered  at  once  : 

"  Why,  yes,  or  I  shall  have  in  time.  Uncle  Arthur, 
you  know,  is  in  no  condition  to  make  a  will  now.  It 
would  not  stand  a  minute.  All  the  lawyers  say  that." 

"You  have  taken  counsel,  then  ?" 

13 


200  UNbtiR    THE   PJNES    VtlTtt 

The  parasol  dug  a  great  hole  in  the  soft  pines  and  was 
in  danger  of  being  broken,  as*  Tom  replied  : 

"Oh,  yes,  we  are  sure  of  that.  Whatever  Uncle  Ar- 
thur has,  and  it  is  more  than  a  million,  will  go  to  father, 
and,  after  him,  to  Maude  and  me;  so  you  are  sure  to  be 
rich  and  to  be  the  mistress  of  Tracy  Park,  which  will 
naturally  come  to  me.  Think,  Jcrrie,  what  a  different  life 
you  will  lead  at  the  Park  House  from  what  you  do  now, 
•washing  old  Mrs.  Crawford's  stockings  and  Harold's 
overalls." 

"  Yes,  I  am  thinking,"  Jerrie  answered,  very  low  ;  and 
if  Tom  had  followed  the  end  of  her  parasol,  he  would 
have  seen  that  it  was  forming  the  word  Gretchcn  in  front 
of  him. 

"  Suppose  Mr.  Arthur  has  a  wife  somewhere  ?"  Jerrie 
asked. 

"  A  wife  I"  Tom  exclaimed.  "  That  is  impossible.  We 
should  have  heard  of  that." 

"Who  was  Gretchen  ?"  was  the  next  query. 

"  Oh,  some  sweetheart,  I  suppose — some  little  German 
girl  with  whom  he  amused  himself  awhile  and  then  cast 
off,  as  men  usually  do  such  incumbrances." 

Tom  did  not  quite  know  himself  what  he  was  saying,  or 
what  it  implied,  and  he  was  not  at  all  prepared  to  see  the 
parasol  stuck  straight  into  the  ground,  while  Jerrie  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  confronted  him  fiercely. 

"  Tom  Tracy  !  If  you  mean  to  insinuate  a  thing  which 
is  not  good  and  pure  against  Gretchen,  I'll  never  speak  to 
you  as  long  as  I  live  !  Take  back  what  you  said  about  Mr. 
Arthur's  casting  her  off  !  She  was  his  wife  and  you  know 
it !  Dead,  perhaps — I  think  she  is  ;  but  she  was  his  wife — 
his  true  and  lawful  wife  ;  and — I — sometimes" — 

She  could  not  add  "  think  she  was  my  mother,"  for  the 
words  stuck  in  her  throat,  where  her  heart  seemed  to  be 
beating  wildly  and  choking  her  utterance. 

"Why,  Jerrie,"  Tom  said,  startled  at  her  excited  appear- 
ance, and  anxious  to  appease  her,  "  what  ails  you  ?  I  hardly 
know  what  I  said,  and  if  I  have  offended  you,  I  am  sorry. 
I  know  nothing  of  Gretchen  ;  her  face  is  a  good  one  and  a 
pretty  one,  and  Maude  says  you  look  like  her ;  though  I 
don't  see  it,  for  I  think  you  far  prettier  than  she.  Per- 
haps she  was  my  uncle's  wife ;  but  that  does  not  injure  my 


VNtiER    TUB    P1XES    WlTIi    TOJf.  201 

prospects,  for  of  course  she  is  dead,  or  she  would  hu vc 
turned  up  before  this  time.  "We  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
her/' 

"She  may  have  left  a  child.  What  then?"  Jerrie 
asked,  with  as  steady  a  voice  as  she  could  command. 

"Pshaw!  humbug!"  Tom  replied,  with  a  laugh. 
"  That  is  impossible.  A  child  would  have  been  heard  from 
before  this  time.  There  is  no  child.  I'm  sure  I  hope  not, 
as  that  would  seriously  interfere  with  our  prospects.  Think 
of  some  one — say  a  young  lady — walking  in  upon  us  some 
day  and  claiming  to  be  Arthur  Tracy's  daughter  I" 

"What  would  you  do?"  Jerrie  asked,  in  a  tone  of 
smothered  excitement. 

"I  believe  I'd  kill  her,"  Tom  said,  laughingly,  "or 
marry  her,  if  I  had  not  already  seen  you.  But  don't  worry 
about  that.  There  is  no  child  ;  there  is  nothing  between 
us  and  a  million,  and  you  have  only  to  appoint  the  day 
which  will  make  me  the  happiest  of  men,  and  free  you  from 
a  drudgery,  which  just  to  think  of  sets  my  teeth  on  edge. 
Will  you  name  the  day,  Jerrie  ?" 

If  it  had  been  possible  for  a  look  to  have  annihilated 
Tom,  the  scorn  which  blazed  in  Jerrie's  eyes  would  have 
done  so.  To  hear  him  talk  as  if  the  matter  were  settled 
and  the  money  he  was  to  inherit  from  his  uncle  could  buy 
her  made  her  blood  boil,  and  seizing  her  poor  parasol,  .-till 
standing  up  so  straight  in  the  pine  needles,  she  stepped 
backward  from  him  and  said,  in  a  mocking  voice  : 

"  Thank  you,  Tom,  for  the  honor  you  would  confer 
upon  me,  and  which  I  must  decline,  for  I  would  rather 
wash  grandma's  stockings  all  my  life,  and  Harold's  over- 
alls, too,  than  marry  a  man  for  money." 

"Jerrie,  oh,  Jerrie,  you  don't  mean  it!  You  do  not 
refuse  me  !"  Tom  cried,  in  alarm,  stretching  out  his  arm 
to  reach  her,  but  touching  only  the  parasol,  to  which  he 
clung  desperately,  as  a  drowning  man  to  a  straw. 

"  I  do  mean  it,  Tom,"  she  said,  softened  a  little  by  the 
pain  she  saw  in  his  face.  "I  can  never  be  your  wife." 

"  But  why  not  ?  '  Tom  demanded.  "  Many  a  girl  who 
stands  higher  socially  in  the  world  than  you  would  gladly 
bear  my  name.  I  might  have  married  Governor  Storey's 
daughter,  at  Saratoga,  last  summer,  but  one  thought  of 


292  VNDER    THE   PINES    "WITH    TOM. 

you  was  enough  to  keep  me  from  her.  You  cannot  be  in 
earnest." 

"But  I  am.  I  care  nothing  for  your  money,  which 
may  or  may  not  be  yours.  I  do  not  love  you  Tom  ;  and 
without  love  I  would  not  marry  a  prince." 

It  was  very  hard  for  Tom  to  believe  that  Jerrie  really 
meant  to  refuse  him,  who,  with  all  his  love  for  her— and  he 
did  love  her  as  well  as  he  was  capable  of  loving  any  one — 
still  felt  that  he  was  stooping  or  at  least  was  honoring  her 
greatly  when  he  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  And  she  had  re- 
fused him,  and  kept  on  refusing  him  in  spite  of  all  he 
could  say;  and  worse  than  all,  made  him  feel  at  last  that 
she  did  not  consider  it  an  honor  to  be  Mrs.  Tom  Tracy,  of 
Tracy  Park,  and  did  not  care  either  for  him  or  his  prospec- 
tive fortune.  She  called  it  that  finally,  and  then  Tom 
grew  angry  and  taunted  her  with  fostering  a  hope  that 
Arthur  might  make  her  his  heir,  or  at  least  leave  her 
some  portion  of  his  money. 

"But  I  tell  you  he  can't  do  it.  A  crazy  man's  will 
would  never  stand,  and  he  is  crazy  and  you  know  it.  You 
will  never  touch  a  dollar  of  Uncle  Arthur's  money,  if  you 
live  to  be  a  hundred,  unless  it  comes  to  you  from  me. 
Don't  flatter  yourself  that  you  will,  and  don't  flatter  your- 
self either  that  you  will  ever  catch  Hal  Hastings,  who  is 
the  real  obstacle  in  my  way.  He  is  after  Maud,  who  ought 
to  look  higher  than  a  painter,  a  carpenter,  a " 

"  Tom  Tracy  !"  and  Jerrie's  parasol  was  raised  so  defi- 
antly and  her  eyes  flashed  so  indignantly  that  Tom  did  not 
finish  what  he  was  going  to  say,  but  cowered  before  the 
angry  girl,  who  hurled  her  words  at  him  with  such  scath- 
ing vehemence.  "Tom  Tracy!  stop!  You  have  said 
enough.  When  you  made  me  believe  that  you  really  did 
care  for  me  ;  and  I  suppose  you  must,  or  you  would  not 
have  thrown  over  a  governor's  daughter  for  me,  or  left  so 
many  love-lorne,  high-born  maidens  out  in  the  cold,  I  was 
sorry  for  you,  for  I  hate  to  give  any  one  pain,  and  I  would 
rather  have  you  my  friend  than  my  enemy  ;  but  when  you 
taunt  me  with  expectations  from  your  uncle " 

Here  Jerrie  paused,  for  the  lump  in  her  throat  would 
not  suffer  the  words  to  come,  and  there  arose  before  her  as 
if  painted  upon  canvas  the  low  room,  the  white  stove,  the 
firelight  on  the  whiter  face,  and  the  little  child  in  the  far- 


THE    GARDEN   PARTY.  293 

off  German  city.  But  she  would  have  died  sooner  than  have 
told  Tom  of  this,  or  that  the  conviction  was  strong  upon 
her  that  she  should  one  day  stand  there  under  the  pines, 
herself  the  heiress  of  Tracy  Park,  Gretchen's  memory  hon- 
ored, and  Gretchen's  wrongs  wiped  out. 

After  a  moment  she  went  on: 

"  I  care  nothing  for  your  money,  and  less  for  you,  who 
show  the  meanness  there  is  in  your  nature  when  you  speak 
of  Harold  Hastings  as  you  have  done.  Suppose  lie  is  poor 
— suppose  he  is  a  painter  and  a  carpenter  and  has  been 
what  you  started  to  call  him — is  he  less  a  man  for  that  ?  A 
thousand  times  no,  and  if  Maude  has  won  his  love,  she 
should  be  prouder  of  it  than  of  a  duchess'  coronet ;  I  do  not 
wish  to  wound  you,  but  when  you  talk  of  Harold,  you  make 
me  so  mad.  Good-morning  ;  it  is  time  for  me  to  be  at  my 
drudgery,  as  you  call  it." 

She  walked  swiftly  away,  leaving  her  parasol,  which  she 
had  again  thrust  into  the  ground,  flopping  in  the  breeze 
which  had  just  sprung  up,  and  each  flop  seeming  to  mock 
the  discomfited  Tom,  who  greatly  astonished,  but  not  at  all 
out  of  conceit  with  himself,  sat  looking  blankly  after  her, 
as  with  her  head  and  shoulders  more  erect  than  usual,  if 
possible,  she  went  on  almost  upon  a  run  until  a  turn  in  the 
road  hid  her  from  view.  Then  he  arose  and  shook  himself 
together,  and  picking  up  the  soiled  parasol,  folded  it  care- 
fully and  put  it  upon  the  seat,  saying  as  he  did  so: 

"  By  George,  did  that  girl  know  what  she  was  about 
when  she  refused  me  ?" 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

THE  GARDEN  PARTY. 

TERRIE  walked  very  rapidly  toward  home,  almost  run- 
*J  ning  at  times,  and  not  at  all  conscious  of  the  absence 
of  her  parasol,  or  that  the  noonday  sun  was  beating  hot 
upon  her  head.  She  was  too  much  excited  to  think  of  any 
thingclearly  except  of  what  Tom  had  said  to  her  of  Maude 
and  Harold.  How  she  hated  him  for  it,  and  hated  herself, 


294  THE  GARDEN  PARTY. 

for  her  jealousy  of  the  poor  little  sick  girl,  whose  days  she 
feared  were  numbered.  "If  Harold  is  a  comfort  to  her, 
shall  I  begrudge  her  that  comfort !  Never,  no,  never/' 
she  said  aloud.  Then  as  she  remembered  Tom's  offer,  which 
she  believed  had  been  made  in  good  faith,  she  continued  : 
"Poor  Tom  !  I  said  some  sharp  things  to  him,  but  he  de- 
served them,  the  prig  !  Let  him  marry  that  governor's 
daughter  if  he  can.  I  am  sure  I  wish  him  success." 

She  had  reached  home  by  this  time  and  found  their 
simple  dinner  waiting  for  her. 

•'Oh,  grandma,  why  did  you  do  it?  Why  didn't  you 
wait  for  me  ?  "  she  said,  as  she  took  her  seat  at  the  table, 
where  the  dishes  were  all  so  plain,  and  the  cloth,  though 
white  and  clean,  so  coarse  and  cheap. 

Jerrie  was  as  fond  of  luxury  and  elegance  as  any  one, 
and  Tracy  Park  would  have  suited  her  taste  better  than  the 
cottage. 

"But  not  with  Tom/' she  kept  repeating  to  herself, 
as  she  cleared  the  table  and  washed  the  dishes,  and  then 
brought  in  and  folded  the  cloths  for  the  morrow's  ironing. 

By  this  time  she  was  very  tired,  and  going  to  her  room, 
she  threw  herself  upon  the  lounge  and  slept  soundly  for 
two  hours  or  more.  Sleep  is  a  wonderful  tonic  and  Jerry 
rose  refreshed  and  quite  herself  again.  Not  even  a  thought 
of  Maude  and  Harold  disturbed  her  as  she  went  whistling 
and  singing  around  her  room,  hanging  up  her  dresses  one 
by  one,  and  wondering  which  she  should  wear  at  the  garden 
party.  Deciding  at  last  upon  a  white  muslin,  which,  although 
two  years  old,  was  still  in  fashion,  and  very  becoming,  she 
arranged  her  hair  in  a  fluffy  mass  at  the  back  of  her  head, 
brushed  her  bangs  into  short,  soft  curls  upon  her  forehead, 
pinned  a  cluster  of  roses  on  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  and  was 
ready  for  the  party. 

"Tell  Harold,  if  he  is  not  too  tired,  I  want  him  very 
much  to  come  for  me,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Crawford,  and 
then  about  five  o'clock  started  for  Grassy  Spring,  where 
she  found  the  guests  assembled  in  the  grounds,  which  sur- 
rounded the  house. 

Tom  was  there  in  his  character  of  a  fine  city  dandy, 
and  the  moment  he  saw  Jerrie  he  hastened  to  meet  her, 
greeting  her  with  perfect  self-possession,  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 


TEE    GARDES    PARTY.  205 

"You  are  late,"  he  said,  going  up  to  her.  "We  are  wait- 
ing for  you  to  complete  our  eight  hand  croquet,  and  I  claim 
you  as  my  partner." 

"I  c-c-call  that  mean,  T-t-tom.  I  wasg-g-going  to  ask 
J-jerrie  to  pi-play  with  m-me,"  Billy  said,  while  Dick's  face 
showed  that  he,  too,  would  like  the  pleasure  of  playing  with 
Jerrie,  who  was  known  to  be  an  expert  and  seldom  missed 
a  ball. 

Naturally,  however,  Marian  Raymond  as  a  stranger, 
would  fall  to  him  and  they  were  soon  paired  off,  Dick  and 
Marian,  Tom  and  Jerrie,  Nina  and  Billy,  Fred.  Raymond 
and  Ann  Eliza,  who  wore  diamonds  enough  for  a  full  dress 
party,  and  whose  hair  was  piled  on  the  top  of  her  head  so 
loosely  that  the  ends  of  it  stuck  out  here  and  there  like  the 
streamers  on  a  boat  on  gala  days.  This  careless  style  of 
dressing  her  hair  Ann  Eliza  affected,  thinking  it  gave  indi- 
viduality to  her  appearance;  and  it  certainly  did  attract 
general  observation.  Dick  had  stumbled  and  stammered 
dreadfully  when  confessing  to  his  sister  that  he  had  invited 
the  Peterkins,  while  Nina  had  drawn  a  long  breath  of  dis- 
may as  she  thought  of  presenting  Ann  Eliza  and  Billy  to 
Marian  Raymond,  with  her  culture  and  aristocratic  ideas. 
Then  sbe  burst  into  a  laugh,  and  said,  with  her  usual 
sweetness : 

"Nevermind,  Dickio.  You  could  not  do  otherwise. 
I'll  prepare  Marian,  and  the  Peterkins  will  really  enjoy  it." 

So  Marian,  who  was  a  kind-hearted,  sensible  girl,  was 
prepared,  and  received  the  Peterkins  very  graciously,  and 
seemed  really  pleased  with  Billy,  whose  big,  kind  heart 
shone  through  his  diminutive  body  and  always  won  him 
friends.  He  was  very  happy  to  be  there,  because  he  liked 
society,  and  because  he  knew  Jerrie  was  coming  ;  and  Ann 
Eliza  was  very  glad  because  she  felt  it  an  honor  to  be  in- 
vited to  Grassy  Spring,  and  because  Tom  was  there,  and  when 
croquet  was  proposed  she  was  the  first  to  respond. 

"  Oli,  yes,  that  will  be  nice,  and  I  know  our  side  will 
beat,"  she  said  looking  at  Tom  as  if  it  were  a  settled  thing 
that  she  should  play  with  him. 

But  Tom  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  gracious.  He  had 
come  to  the  entertainment,  which  he  mentally  called  a  bore, 
partly  because  he  would  not  let  Jerrie  think  he  was  taking 
her  refusal  to  heart,  and  uartlv  because  he  must  see  her 


2S6  TUE    GARDEN   PARTY. 

again,  even  if  she  never  could  be  Iris  wife.  All  the  better 
nature  of  Tom  was  concentrated  in  his  love  for  Jerrie,  and 
had  she  married  him  he  would  probably  have  made  her  as 
happy  as  a  wholly  selfish  man  can  make  happy  the  woman 
he  loves.  But  she  had  declined  his  offer,  and  wounded  him 
deeper  than  she  supposed.  A  hundred  times  he  had  said 
to  himself  that  afternoon,  that  he  did  not  care  a  sou,  that 
he  was  glad  she  had  refused  him,  for  after  all  it  was  only  an 
infatuation  on  his  part;  that  the  girl  of  the  carpet-bag  was 
not  the  wife  for  a  Tracy  ;  but  the  twinge  of  pain  in  his 
heart  belied  his  words,  and  he  knew  he  loved  Jerrie  Craw- 
ford better  than  he  should  ever  again  love  any  girl, 
whether  the  daughter  of  a  governor  or  of  the  President. 

"And  I'll  go  to  the  party  too,  just  to  show  her  that  I 
don't  care,  and  for  the  sake  of  seeing  her,"  he  said.  "  She 
can't  help  that,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  look  at  a  women  so 
grandly  developed  and  perfectly  formed  as  she  is.  By  Jove  ! 
Hal  Hastings  is  a  lucky  dog ;  but  I  shall  hate  him  for- 
ever." 

So  Tom  went  to  Grassy  Spring  in  a  frame  of  mind  not 
the  most  amiable ;  and  when  croquet,  was  proposed,  he 
sneered  at  it  as  something  quite  too  passe,  citing  lawn  tennis 
as  the  only  decent  outdoor  amusement. 

"  Why,  then,  don't  you  set  it  up  on  your  grounds, 
•where  you  have  plenty  of  room,  and  ask  us  all  over  there  ?" 
Dick  asked,  good-humoredly,  as  he  began  to  get  out  the 
mallets  and  balls. 

To  this  Tom  did  not  reply,  but  said,  instead  : 

"  Count  me  out.  I  don't  like  the  game,  and  there  are 
enough  without  me." 

Just  then  Jerrie  appeared  at  the  gate,  and  he  added 
quickly. 

"  Still,  I  don't  wish  to  seem  ungracious  ;  and  now  Jerrie 
has  come,  we  can  have  an  eight  hand." 

Hastening  towards  her,  he  met  her  as  we  have  recorded, 
and  claimed  her  for  his  partner. 

"  Thank  you  Tom,"  Jerrie  said  with  a  bright  smile  on 
her  face,  which  made  the  young  man's  heart  beat  fast,  as  he 
gave  her  her  mallet,  and  told  her  she  was  to  play  first. 

Tom  was  making  himself  master  of  ceremonies,  r.nd 
Dick  let  him,  and  watched  Jerrie  admiringly  as  she  made 
the  two  arches,  and  the  third,  and  fourth,  and  then  sent 


THE    GARDEN    PARTY.  297 

her  ball  out  of  harm's  way.  It  was  a  long  and  closely 
contested  game,  for  all  were  skillful  players,  except  poor 
Ann  Eliza,  who  was  always  behind  and  required  a  great 
deal  of  attention  from  her  partner,  especially  when  it  came 
to  croqueting  a  ball.  She  did  not  know  exactly  what  to 
do,  and  kept  her  foot  so  long  upon  the  ball  that  less  amiable 
girls  than  Niua  and  Jerrie  would  have  said  she  did  it  on 
purpose,  to  show  how  small  and  pretty  it  looked  in  her 
closely  fitting  French  boot.  But  Jerrie's  side  beat,  as  it 
usually  did.  She  had  become  a  "rover "the  second  round, 
had  rescued  Tom  from  many  a  difficulty,  and  taken  Ann 
Eliza  through  four  or  five  wickets,  besides  doing  good  serv- 
ice to  her  other  friends. 

"I  p-p-propose  three  ch-cheers  for  Jerrie,"  Billy  said, 
standing  on  tiptoe  and  nearly  splitting  his  throat  with  his 
own  hurrah. 

After  the  game  was  over  they  repaired  to  the  piazza, 
where  the  little  tables  were  laid  for  tea,  and  where  Jerrie 
found  herself  vis-a-vis  with  Marian  Kaymond,  of  whom 
she  had  thought  she  might  stand  a  little  in  awe,  she  had 
heard  so  much  of  her.  But  the  mesmeric  power  which 
Jerrie  possessed  drew  the  Kentucky  girl  to  her  at  once, 
and  they  were  soon  in  a  most  animated  conversation. 

"  You  do  not  seem  like  a  stranger  to  me,"  Marian  said, 
"  and  I  should  almost  say  I  had  seen  you  before,  you  are  so 
like  a  picture  in  Germany." 

"Yes,"  Jerrie  answered,  with  a  gasp,  and  a  feeling  such 
as  she  always  experienced  when  the  spell  was  upon  her  and 
she  saw  things  as  in  a  dream. 

"  Was  it  in  a  gallery  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  it  was  in  a  house  we  rented  in  "Wiesbaden. 
You  know,  perhaps,  that  I  was  there  at  school  for  a  long 
time.  Then,  when  mamma  came  out,  and  I  was  through 
school,  we  staid  there  for  months,  it  was  so  lovely,  and  we 
rented  a  house  which  an  Englishman  had  bought  and  made 
over.  Such  u pretty  house  it  was,  too,  with  so  many  flowers 
and  vines  around  it." 

"And  the  picture — did  it  belong  to  the  Englishman  ?" 
Jerrie  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,"  Marian  replied  ;  "it  did  not  seem  to  belong 
to  anybody.       Mr.    Carter — that    was   the  name   of    our 
landlord — said  it  was  there  when  he  took  the  house,  which 
13* 


298  THE    GARDEN   PARTY. 

Avas  then  very  small  and  low,  with  only  two  or  three  rooms. 
He  bought  it  because  of  the  situation,  which,  though  very 
quiet  and  pleasant,  was  so  near  the  Kursaal  that  we  could 
always  hear  the  music  without  going  to  the  garden." 

"Yes."  Jerrie  said  again,  with  her  head  on  one  side, 
and  her  ear  turned  up,  as  if  she  were  listening  to  some  for- 
gotten strains.  "  Yes  ;  and  the  picture  was  like  me,  you 
say — how  like  me  ?  " 

"  Every  way  like  you/'  Marian  replied;  "  except  that 
the  original  must  have  been  younger  when  it  was  taken — 
sixteen,  perhaps — and  she  was  smaller  than  you,  and  wore 
a  peasant's  dress,  and  was  knitting  on  a  bench  under  a  tree, 
with  the  sunshine  falling  around  her,  and  at  a  little  dis- 
tance a  gentleman  stood  watching  her.  But  what  is  the 
matter,  Miss  Crawford  ?  Are  you  sick  ?  "  Marian  asked, 
suddenly,  as  she  saw  the  bright  color  fade  from  Jerrie's 
face,  while  Tom  and  Dick  knocked  their  heads  together  in 
their  efforts  to  get  her  a  glass  of  water,  which  they  suc- 
ceeded in  spilling  into  her  lap. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  Jerrie  said,  recovering  herself  quickly. 
"  I  have  been  in  the  hot  sun  a  good  deal  to-day,  and  per- 
haps that  affected  me  and  made  me  faint.  It  has  passed 
now  ; "  and  she  looked  up  as  brightly  as  ever. 

"  It's  that  confounded  washing  !"  Tom  thought ;  but 
Jerrie  could  have  told  him  differently. 

As  Marian  had  talked  to  her  of  the  house  in  Wiesbaden 
and  the  picture  of  the  peasant  girl  knitting  in  the  sunshine 
— she  had  seen,  as  by  revelation — the  picture  on  the  wall, 
in  its  pretty  Florentine  frame,  and  knew  that  it  resembled 
the  face  which  came  to  her  so  often  and  was  so  real  to  her. 
Was  it  her  old  home  Marian  was  describing  ?  Had  she 
lived  there  once,  when  the  house  consisted  of  only  two  or 
three  rooms  ?  and  was  that  a  picture  of  her  mother,  left 
there  she  knew  not  how  or  why  ?  These  were  the  thoughts 
crowding  each  other  so  fast  in  her  brain  when  the  faintncss 
and  pallor  crept  over  her  and  the  objects  about  her  began 
to  seem  unreal.  But  the  cold  water  revived  her,  and  she 
was  soon  herself  again,  listening  while  Marian  talked  of 
heat  and  sun-strokes,  with  an  evident  forgetfulness  of  the 
peasant  girl  knitting  in  the  sunshine  ;  but  Jerrie  soon 
recurred  to  the  subject  and  asked,  abruptly  : 

"  Was  there  a  stove  in  that  house — a  tall,  white  stove, 


THE    GARDEN    PARTY.  299 

in  a  corner  of  one  of  the  old  rooms — say  the  kitchen — and 
a  high- backed  settee  ?" 

Marian  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  surprise,  and  then 
replied : 

"Oh,  I  know  what  yon  mean — those  unwieldy  things 
in  which  they  sometimes  put  the  wood  from  the  hall.  No  ; 
there  was  nothing  of  that  kind,  though  there  was  an  old 
settee  by  the  kitchen  fire-place,  but  not  a  tall  stove." 

"  Was  the  picture  in  the  kitchen  ?"  Jerrie  asked  next. 

"No,"  Marian  replied,  "it  was  in  a  little  low  apart- 
ment, which  must  once  have  been  the  best  room." 

"  And  was  there  no  theory  with  regard  to  it  ?  It  seems 
strange  that  any  one  should  leave  it  there  if  he  cared  for 
it,"  Jerrie  said. 

"Yes,  it  does,"  Marian  replied  ;  "but  all  Mr.  Carter 
knew  was  that  the  people  of  whom  he  bought  the  house 
said  the  portrait  was  there  when  they  took  possession,  and 
that  it  had  been  left  to  apply  on  the  back  rent ;  also  that 
the  original  was  dead.  He  (Mr.  Carter)  had  bought  the 
picture  with  the  house,  and  offered  to  take  it  down,  but  I 
would  not  let  him,  It  was  such  a  sweet,  sunny,  happy 
face  that  it  did  me  good  to  look  at  it,  and  wonder  who  the 
young  girl  was,  and  if  her  life  were  ever  linked  with  that 
of  the  stranger  watching  her." 

Again  the  faintness  came  upon  Jerrie,  for  she  could  see 
so  plainly  the  picture  of  the  girl,  with  the  long  stocking  in 
her  lap — a  very  long  stocking  she  felb  sure  it  was,  but  dared 
not  ask,  lest  they  should  think  her  question  a  strange  one. 
Of  the  stranger  in  the  back  ground  she  had  no  recollection, 
but  her  heart  beat  wildly  as  she  thought : 

"  Was  that  Mr.  Arthur,  and  was  the  young  girl 
Gretcheu  ?  " 

How  fast  the  lines  touching  her  past  had  widened  about 
her  since  she  first  saw  the  likeness  in  the  mirror,  and  her 
confused  memories  began  to  take  shape  and  assume  a 
tangible  form. 

"  I  will  find  that  house,  and  that  picture,  and  Mr.  Car- 
ter, and  the  people  who  lived  there  before  him,"  she  said  to 
herself  ;  and  then  again,  addressing  Marian,  she  asked  : 

"What  was  the  street,  and  the  number  of  that 
house?" 


300  THE    GARDEN*  PARTY. 

Marian  told  lier  tho  street,  out  could  not  remember  the 
number,  while  Tom  said  laughingly : 

"  Why  Jerrie,  what  makes  you  so  much  interested  in  an 
old  German  house  ?  Do  you  expect  to  go  there  and  live  in 
it?" 

"Yes,"  Jerrie  replied,  in  the  same  light  tone.  "I  am 
going  to  Wiesbaden  sometime,  and  I  mean  to  find  that 
house  and  the  picture  which  Miss  Raymond  says  I  am  so 
much  like  ;  then  I  shall  know  how  I  look  to  otliers.  You 
remember  the  couplet : 

"  '  Oh,  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us, 
To  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us !'  " 

"  Look  in  the  glass,  the  best  one  you  can  find,  and 
you'll  see  yourself  as  others  see  you,"  Dick  said,  gallantly. 

Before  Jerrie  could  reply,  a  servant  appeared  on  the 
piazza,  saying  there  was  some  one  at  the  telephone  ask- 
ing for  Mr.  Peterkin. 

It  proved  to  be  Billy's  father,  who  was  in  the  village, 
and  had  received  a  telegram  from  Springfield  concerning 
a  lawsuit  which  was  pending  between  himself  and  a  rival 
firm,  which  claimed  that  he  had  infringed  upon  its  patents. 
Before  replying  to  the  telegram  he  wished  to  confer  with 
his  son.  who  was  to  come  at  once  to  the  hotel,  and,  if  neces- 
sary, go  to  Springfield  that  night. 

"B-by  Jove,"  Billy  said,  as  he  explained  the  matter, 
"  it's  too  bad  that  I  must  g-go,  when  I'm  enjoying  rn-my- 
self  t-t-tip-top.  I  wish  that  lawsuit  was  in  Gu-Guinca." 

Then  turning  to  Ann  Eliza  he  asked  how  she  Avould  get 
home  if  he  did  not  return. 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble  about  me.  I  can  take  care  of  myself," 
Ann  Eliza  said,  with  a  bounce  up  in  her  chair,  which  set 
every  loose  hair  of  her  frowzy  head  to  flying. 

"M-m-maybe  they'll  send  the  ca-carriage,"  Billy  went 
on,  "and  if  they  do-don't,  m-may  be  you  can  g-go  with 
T-Tom  as  far  as  his  house,  and  then  you  wo-won't  be 
afraid." 

Tom  could  have  killed  the  little  man  for  having  thus 
made  it  impossible  for  him  not  to  see  his  sister  safely  home. 
He  had  fully  intended  to  forestall  Dick,  and  go  with  Jerrie 
if  Harold  did  not  come,  for  though  she  hud  refused  him, 
he  wished  to  keep  her  as  a  friend,  hoping  that  in  time  she 


OUT   IN    TEE    STORM.  301 

might  bo  lead  (o  consider.  He  liked  to  hear  her  voice — to 
look  into  her  face — to  be  near  her,  and  the  walk  in  the 
moonlight,  with  her  upon  his  arm,  had  been  something  very 
pleasaut  to  contemplate,  and  now  it  was  snatched  from  him 
by  Billy's  ill-advised  speech,  and  old  Peterkin's  red-haired 
daughter  thrust  upon  him.  It.  was  rather  hard,  and  Tom's 
face  was  very  gloomy  and  dark  for  the  remainder  of  the 
evening,  while  they  sat  upon  the  piazza  and  laughed,  and 
talked,  and  said  the  little  nothings  so  pleasant  to  the  young 
and  so  meaningless  to  the  old  who  have  forgotten  their 
youth. 

Jerrie  was  the  first  to  speak  of  going.  She  had  hoped 
that  Harold  might  possibly  come  for  her,  but  as  the  time 
passed  on,  and  he  did  not  appear,  she  arose  to  say  good-night 
to  Nina,  while  Dick  hastened  forward  and  announced  his 
intention  to  accompany  her. 

"  Xo,  Dick,  no  ;  please  don't/'  she  said.  "  I  am  not  a 
bit  afraid,  and  I  would  rather  you  did  not  go." 

But  Dick  was  persistent. 

"  You  know  you  accepted  my  service  this  morning,"  he 
said,  and  his  face,  as  he  went  down  the  steps  with  Jerrie  on 
his  arm,  wore  a  very  different  expression  from  that  of  pour 
Tom,  who,  with  Ann  Eliza  corning  about  to  his  elbow, 
stalked  moodily  along  the  road,  scarcely  heaving  and  not 
always  replying  to  the  commonplace  remarks  of  his  com- 
panion, who  had  never  been  so  happy  in  her  life,  because 
never  before  had  she  been  out  alone  in  the  evening  with 
Tom  Tracy  as  her  escort. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

OUT  IN  THE  STORM. 

FOR  half  an  hour  or  more  before  the  young  people  left  the 
house  a  dark  mass  of  clouds  had  been  rolling  up  from 
the  west,  and  by  the  time  they  were  out  of  the  grounds  and 
in  the  highway,  the  moonlight  was  wholly  obscured,  while 
frequent  growls  of  thunder  and  flashes  of  lightning  in  the 
distance  told,  of  the  fast  coming  storm. 


302  OUT    IN    THE    STORM. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  afraid  of  thunder  !  Aren't  you  ?"  Ann 
Eliza  cried,  in  terror,  as  she  clung  closer  to  Tom,  who  did 
not  reply  until  there  came  a  gleam  of  lightning  which 
showed  him  the  white  face  and  the  loose  hair  blowing  out 
from  under  his  companion's  hat. 

There  was  a  little  shriek  of  fear  and  a  smothered  cry. 

"  Oh,  Tom,  aren't  you  a  bit  afraid  ?" 

And  then  Tom  answered  the  trembling  little  girl  who 
clung  so  closely  to  him  : 

"  Thunder  and  lightning,  no  !  Fm  not  afraid  of  any- 
thing except  getting  wet ;  and  if  you  are,  you'd  better  run 
before  the  whole  thing  is  upon  us  ;  the  sky  is  blacker  than 
midnight  now.  I  never  saw  a  storm  come  on  so  fast.  Can 
you  run  ?" 

"  Yes — some,"  Ann  Eliza  gasped ;  "only  my  boots  are 
so  tight  and  new,  and  the  heels  are  so  high.  Do  you  think 
we  shall  be  struck  ?" 

"  Struck  ?  No.  But  don't  screech  and  hang  on  to  me 
so.  We  can  never  get  along  if  you  do,"  Tom  growled  ;  and 
taking  her  by  the  wrist,  he  dragged  rather  than  led  her 
through  the  woods  where  the  great  rain-drops  were  begin- 
ning to  fall  so  fast,  as  the  two  showers — one  from  the  west 
and  one  from  the  south — approached  each  other,  until  at 
last  they  met  overhead,  and  then  commenced  a  wild  and 
fierce  battle  of  the  elements,  the  southern  storm  and  the 
western  storm  each  trying  to  outdo  the  other  and  come  off 
conqueror. 

As  the  thunder,  and  lightning,  and  rain  increased,  Tom 
went  on  faster  and  faster,  forgetting  that  the  slip  of  a  girl, 
who  scarcely  came  to  his  shoulders,  could  not  take  as  long 
strides  as  a  great,  hulking  fellow  like  himself. 

"Oh,  Tom,  Tom — please  not  so  fast.  I  can't  keep  up, 
my  heart  beats  so  and  my  boots  hurt  me  so,"  came  in  a 
faint,  sobbing  protest  more  than  once  from  the  panting  girl 
at  his  side  ;  but  he  only  answered  : 

"  You  must  keep  up,  or  we  shall  be  soaked  through  and 
through.  I  never  knew  it  to  rain  so  fast.  Take  off  your 
boots,  if  they  hurt  you.  You've  no  business  to  wear  such 
small  ones." 

He  had  heard  from  Maude  that  Ann  Eliza  was  very 
proud  of  her  feet,  and  always  wore  boots  too  small  for  them, 


OUT   IN    THE    STORK.  303 

and  he  experienced  a  savage  satisfaction  in  knowing  that 
she  was  paying  for  her  foolishness.  This  was  not  very  kind 
in  Tom,  but  he  was  not  a  kind-hearted  man,  and  he  held 
the  whole  Pcterkin  tribe,  as  he  called  them,  in  such  con- 
tempt that  he  would  scarcely  have  cared  if  the  tired  little 
feet,  boots  and  all,  had  dropped  off,  provided  it  did  not 
add  to  his  discomfort.  They  were  out  of  the  woods  and 
park  by  this  time,  and  had  struck  into  a  field  as  a  shorter 
route  to  Le  Bateau.  But  the  way  was  rough  and  stony,  and 
Tom  had  stumbled  himself  two  or  three  times  and  almost 
fallen,  when  a  sharp,  loud  cry  came  from  Ann  Eliza,  and 
he  felt  that  she  was  sinking  to  the  ground. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  drag  her  on,  but  that  would 
have  been  too  brutal,  and  stopping  short  he  asked  what  was 
the  matter. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  guess  I've  sprained  my  ankle.  It 
turned  right  over  on  a  big  stone,  and  hurts  me  awfully.  I 
can't  walk  another  step.  Oh,  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Tom  answered,  gloomily.  "We  are 
in  an  awful  muss.  Here  it  is  raining  great  guns,  and  I  am 
wet  to  my  skin,  and  you  can't  walk,  you  say.  What  in 
thunder  shall  we  do  ?" 

Ann  Eliza  was  sobbing  piteously,  and  when  a  glare  of 
lightning  lighted  up  the  whole  heavens,  Tom  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  face  which  was  distorted  with  pain,  and  this 
decided  him.  He  had  thought  to  leave  her  in  the  darkness 
and  rain,  while  he  went  for  assistance  either  to  the  Park 
House  or  La  Bateau  ;  but  the  sight  of  her  utter  helplessness 
awoke  in  him  a  spark  of  pity  and  bending  over  her  he  said, 
very  gently  for  him  : 

"Annie," — this  was  the  name  by  which  he  used  to  call 
her  when  they  were  children  together,  and  he  thought  Ann 
Eliza  too  long — "  Annie,  I  shall  have  to  carry  you  in  my 
arms  ;  there  is  no  other  way.  It  is  not  very  far  to  your 
home.  Come  !"  and  stooping  over  the  prostrate  form  he 
lifted  her  very  carefully  and  holding  her  in  a  position  the 
least  painful  for  her,  began  again  to  battle  with  the  storm, 
walking  more  carefully  now  and  groping  his  way  through 
the  stony  field  lest  he  should  fall  and  sprain  his  own  ankle, 
perhaps. 

"  This  is  a  jolly  go,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  then  he 
thought  of  Dick  and  Jerrie,  and  wondered  how  they  were 


304  OUT    IN    THE    STORM. 

getting  through  the  storm,  and  if   she  had  sprained  her 
ankle  and  Dick  was  carrying  her  in  his  arms. 

"  He  will  sweat  some,  if  ho  is,  for  Jerrie  is  twice  as 
heavy  as  Peterkiu's  daughter  ; "  and  at  the  very  idea  Tom 
laughed  out  loud,  thinking  that  he  should  greatly  prefer 
having  Jerrie  in  his  arms  to  this  little  girl,  who  neither 
spoke  nor  moved  until  he  laughed,  and  then  there  came  in 
smothered  tones  from  the  region  of  his  vest  : 

"Oh,  Tom,  how  can  you  laugh  ?  Do  you  think  it  such 
fan?" 

"  Fun  !  Thunder  !  Any  thing  but  fun  ! "  was  his  gruff 
reply,  as  he  went  on  more  rapidly  now,  for  they  were  in 
the  grounds  of  Lc  Bateau,  and  the  lights  from  the  house 
were  distinctly  visible  at  no  great  distance  away.  "We 
are  here  at  last.  Thank  the  Lord  ! "  he  said,  as  he  went 
up  the  steps  and  pulled  sharply  at  the  bell. 

"  Let  me  down.  I  can  stand  on  one  foot/'  Ann  Eliza 
said  ;  and  nothing  loth  Tom  put  her  down,  a  most  forlorn 
and  dilapidated  piece  of  humanity  as  she  stood  leaning 
against  him  with  the  light  of  the  piazza  lamp  falling  full 
upon  her. 

Her  little  French  boots,  which  had  partly  done  the  mis- 
chief, were  spoiled,  and  the  heel  of  one  of  them  had  been 
nearly  wrenched  off  when  she  stumbled  over  the  stone. 
Her  India  muslin,  with  its  sash,  and  ribbons,  and  stream- 
ers, was  torn  in  places  and  bedraggled  with  mud.  She  had 
lost  her  hat  in  the  woods,  and  the  wind  and  the  rain  had 
held  high  carnival  in  her  loosely  arranged  hair,  whose  color 
Tom  so  detested,  and  which  streamed  down  her  back  in 
little  wet  tags,  giving  her  the  look  of  a  drowned  rat  after 
it  has  been  tortured  in  a  trap. 

Old  Peterkin  was  reading  his  evening  paper  when  Tom's 
loud  summons  sounded  through  the  house,  making  him 
jump  from  his  chair,  as  he  exclaimed  : 

"  Jiminy  hoe-cakes  !     Who  can  that  be  in  this  storm  ?  *( 

He  h::d  seen  Billy  off  in  the  train,  and  had  returned 
home  just  as  the  rain  began  to  fall.  Naturally,  both  he  and 
his  wife  had  felt  some  anxiety  on  Ann  Eliza's  account,  but 
had  concluded  that  if  the  storm  continued  she  would  remain 
at  Grassy  Spring,  and  if  it  cleared  in  time  they  would  send 
the  carriage  for  her.  So  neither  thought  of  her  when  the 
loud  ring  came,  startling  them  so  much.  It  was  Peterkin 


OUT   IN    THE    STORM.  305 

himself  who  went  to  the  door,  gorgeous  in  a  crimson  satin 
dressing  gown  which  came  to  his  feet,  but  which  no  amount 
of  pulling  could  make  meet  together  over  his  ponderous 
stomach.  An  oriental  smoking  cap  was  on  his  head,  the 
big  tas.-:el  hanging  almost  in  his  eyes,  and  a  half  burned 
cigar  between  his  lingers. 

'•'  Good  George  of  Uxbridge  ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  his  eyes 
fell  upon  Tom,  from  whose  soaked  hat  the  water  was  drip- 
ping, and  upon  Ann  Eliza  leaning  against  him,  her  pale 
face  quivering  with  pain,  and  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 
"  George  of  Uxbridge  !  What's  up  ?  What  ails  the  girl  ! " 

"  She  hae  sprained  her  ankle  and  I  had  to  bring  her 
home.  She  can't  step,"  Tom  said. 

"Jerusalem  hoe-cakes  !  Spraiut  her  ankle  !  Can't  step  ! 
You  brung  her  home!  Heavens  and  earth!  Here,  May  Jane, 
come  lively  !  Here's  a  nice  how-dy-do  !  Ann  'Liza's  broke 
her  laig,  and  Tom  Tracy's  bruug  her  home  !" 

As  Peterkin  talked,  he  was  carrying  his  daughter  into 
the  hall,  hitting  her  lame  foot  against  the  door,  and  elicit- 
ing from  her  a  cry  of  pain. 

"  Oh,  father :  Oh-h  ! — it  does  hurt  so.  Put  me  some- 
where quick,  and  take  off  my  boot." 

She  was  dripping  wet,  and  little  puddles  of  water  trailed 
along  the  carpet  as  Peterkin  carried  her  into  the  sitting 
room,  where  he  was  about  to  lay  her  down  upon  the  delicAte 
satin  couch,  when  his  wife's  housewifely  instincts  were 
roused,  and  she  exclaimed  : 

"  No  father.  IS'ot  there,  when  she's  so  wet,  and  water 
spots  that  satin  so  dreadfully." 

"  What  in  thunder  shall  I  do  with  her  ?  Hold  her  all 
night?"  Peterkin  demanded,  while  Tom  deliberately  picked 
up  the  costly  Turkey  hearth  rug,  and  throwing  it  across  the 
couch,  said  : 

"Put  her  on  that." 

So  Peterkin  deposited  her  upon  the  rug,  hitting  her  foot 
again,  and  sending  her  off  in  a  dead,  faint. 

"  Oh,  she's  dead  !  she's  dead  !  What  shall  we  do  ?"  Mrs. 
Peterkin  cried,  wringing  her  hands  and  walking  about  ex- 
citedly. 

•'Do  ?"  Peterkin  yelled.  "Hold  your  yawp,  and  stop 
floppin'  round  like  a  hen  with  her  head  cut  off  f  She  ain't 
dead.  She's  fainted.  Bring  some  camfire,  or  alcohol,  or 


30G  OUT   IN    TEE    STORM. 

hartshorn,  or  Pond's  Extract,  or  something  for  her  to 
smell." 

"Yes,  yes;  but  where  are  they?"  Mrs.  Peterk  in  moaned, 
flopping  around,  as  her  husband  had  expressed  it,  while 
Tom  rang  the  bell  and  summoned  a  servant,  to  whom  he 
gave  directions. 

"Bring  some  camphor  or  hartshorn,"  she  said.  "Miss 
Peterkin  has  fainted,  and  get  off  that  boot  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. Don't  you  see,  how  her  foot  is  swelling  ?" 

This  to  Peterkin,  who  made  a  dive  at  the  boot,  which 
resisted  all  his  efforts,  even  after  it  was  unbuttoned.  The 
leather,  which  was  soaked  through,  had  shrunk  so  that  it 
was  impossible  to  remove  the  boot  without  cutting  it  away, 
and  this  they  commenced  to  do. 

Ann  Eliza  had  recovered  her  consciousness  by  this  time, 
and  although  the  pain  was  terrible  she  bore  it  heroically, 
as  piece  after  piece  of  the  boot  was  removed,  together  with 
the  silk  stocking,  which  left  her  poor  little  swollen  foot  ex- 
posed and  bare. 

"By  Jove,  she's  plucky  !"  Tom  thought,  as  he  watched 
the  operation  and  saw  the  great  drops  of  sweat  on  Ann 
Eliza's  forehead  and  her  efforts  to  quiet  her  mother,  pre- 
tending that  it  did  not  hurt  so  very  much.  "  Yes,  she's 
plucky,"  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  Tom  was  conscious 
of  a  feeling  of  something  like  respect  f  orPeterkin's  red  haired 
daughter.  "  She  has  a  small  foot,  too  ;  the  smallest  I  ever 
saw  on  a  woman.  I  do  believe  she  wears  twos,"  he  thought, 
while  something  about  the  little  white  foot  made  him  think 
of  poor  Jack's  dead  feet,  laid  under  the  grass  years  ago. 

In  this  softened  frame  of  mind  he  at  last  said  good- 
night, although  pressed  by  Peterkin  to  stay  and  dry  him- 
self, or  at  least  take  a  drink  as  a  preventive  against  cold. 
But  Tom  declined  both,  saying  a  hot  bath  would  set  him 
all  right. 

"Good-by,  Annie.  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  the  sprain," 
he  said,  offering  her  his  hand  ;  and  as  she  took  it  in  hers, 
noticing  about  the  wrist  prints  of  his  fingers  which  had 
grasped  it  so  tightly  and  held  it  so  firmly  as  he  dragged 
her  along  over  stumps,  and  bogs,  and  stones,  until  she  sank 
at  his  feet.  "I  guess  I  was  a  brute  to  race  her  like 
that,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  went  out  into  the  dark- 
ness and  started  for  home.  "  But  I  didn't  want  to  go  with 


UNDER    THE    P15E8     WITH   DICK.  307 

her.  I  wanted  to  be  with  Jerrie,  who,  I  have  no  doubt,  went 
straight  along,  without  ever  thinking  of  spraining  her  ankle, 
as  Ann  Eliza  did.  Poor  little  foot  !  How  swollen,  though, 
it  was,  when  they  got  that  boot  off  ;  but  she  bore  it  like  a 
major  !  Pity  she  has  such  all-fired  red  hair,  and  piles  it  up 
like  a  haystack  on  the  top  of  her  head,  with  every  hair 
looking  six  ways  for  Sunday/' 

At  this  point  in  his  soliloquy  Tom  reached  home,  and  was 
soon  luxuriating  in  a  hot  bath,  which  removed  all  traces 
of  the  soaking  he  had  received.  That  night  he  dreamed 
of  Ann  Eliza,  and  how  light  she  was  in  his  arms,  and 
how  patient  through  it  all,  and  that  the  magnificent  rooms 
at  La  Bateau  were  all  frescoed  with  diamonds  and  the  floors 
inlaid  with  gold.  Then  the  nature  of  his  dream  changed, 
and  it  was  Jerrie  he  was  carrying,  bending  under  her  weight 
until  his  back  was  broken.  But  he  did  not  mind  it  in  the 
least,  and  when  he  bent  to  kiss  the  face  lying  upon  his 
bosom,  where  Ann  Eliza  had  lain,  he  awoke  suddenly  to 
find  that  it  was  morning,  and  that  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly  into  his  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

UNDER  THE  PINES  WITH  DICK. 

LIKE  Tom  and  Ann  Eliza,  Jerrie  and  Dick  had  run  when 
they  saw  how  fast  the  storm  was  coming,  but  it  was  of 
no  use,  for  by  the  time  they  entered  the  park,  the  shortest 
route  to  the  cottage,  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents,  and 
drenched  them  to  the  skin  in  a  few  moments.  Jerrie's  hat 
was  wrenched  off,  as  Ann  Eliza's  had  been,  by  the  wind, 
which  tossed  her  long  golden  hair  about  in  a  most  fantastic 
fashion.  But  Dick  put  his  hat  upon  her  head,  and  would 
have  given  her  his  coat  had  she  allowed  it. 

"  No,  Dick/'  she  said,  laughingly,  as  she  saw  him  about 
to  divest  himself  of  it.  "Keep  your  coat.  I  am  wet 
enough  without  that.  But  what  a  storm,  and  how  dark  it 
grows.  We  shall  break  our  necks  stumbling  along  at,  this 
rate/' 


308  UNDER    THE    PINES    WITH   DICE. 

Just  then  a  broad  glare  of  lightning  illuminated  the 
darkness,  and  showed  Dick  the  four  pines  close  at  hand, 
lie  knew  the  place  well,  for,  with  the  Tracy  children,  ho 
had  often  played  there  when  a  boy,  and  knew  that  the  thick 
boughs  would  afford  them  some  protection  from  the 
storm. 

"  By  jove,  we  are  in  luck  ! "  he  said.  ' '  Here's  the  pine 
room,  as  we  used  to  call  it  when  you  played  you  were 
Marie  Antoinette  and  had  your  head  cut  off.  I  can  re- 
member just  how  I  felt  when  your  white  sun-bonnet,  with 
Mrs.  Crawford's  false  hair  pinned  in  it,  dropped  into  the 
basket,  and  how  awful  it  seemed  when  you  played  dead  so 
long  that  we  almost  thought  you  were  ;  and  when  you  camo 
to  life,  the  way  you  imitated  the  cries  of  a  French  mob,  I 
would  have  sworn  there  were  a  hundred  voices  instead  of 
one,  yelling,  '  Down  with  the  nobility  ! '  You  were  a 
wonderful  actress,  Jerrie,  and  it  is  a  marvel  you  have  not 
gone  upon  the  stage/* 

While  he  talked  he  was  groping  for  the  bench  under  the 
pines,  where  they  sat  down,  Dick  seating  himself  upon  the 
parasol  which  Jerrie  had  left  there  that  morning  after  her 
interview  with  Tom. 

"  Hallo  !  what's  this  ?  "  he  said,  drawing  the  parasol 
from  under  him.  "An  umbrella,  as  I  live!  What  good 
fairy  do  you  suppose  left  it  here  for  us  ?  " 

Jerrie  could  not  tell  him  that  she  had  left  it  there,  and 
she  said  nothing;  while  he  opened  and  held  it  so  that  every 
drop  of  rain  which  slipped  from  it  fell  upon  her  neck  and 
trickled  down  her  back. 

"  Great  Caesar  !  that  was  a  roarer  !  "  Dick  said,  as  the 
peal  of  thunder  which  had  so  frightened  Ann  Eliza  burst 
over  their  heads,  and,  echoing  through  the  woods,  went 
bellowing  off  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  "  That's  a 
stunner,  but  I  rather  like  it  and  like  being  here,  too.  I've 
wanted  a  chance  to  speak  to  you  ever  since — well,  ever  since 
this  morning  when  I  saw  you  in  that  bewildering  costume 
which  showed  your  feet  and  your  arras  so — you  know — and 
that  thingumbob  in  your  head,  and  the  red  stockings — 
and  " —  Here  Dick  became  hopelessly  confused  and  not 
knowing  what  to  say  next  waited  for  Jerrie  to  speak. 

But  Jerrie  did  not  speak,  because  of  the  sudden  alarm 
which  possessed  her.  She  could  not  see  Pick's  face,  but  in 


UNDER    THE    PINES    WlTlt  DICK.  809 

his  voice  she  had  recognized  a  tone  heard  in  Tom's  that 
morning  when  she  sat  with  him  under  the  pines  as  she  was 
sitting  now  with  Dick  and  he  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife. 
Something  told  her  that  Dick  was  feeling  for  her  hands, 
which  she  resolutely  put  behind  her  out  of  his  way,  and  as 
he  could  not  find  them,  he  wound  his  arm  around  her  and 
held  her  fast,  while  he  told  her  how  much  he  loved  her. 

"  I  believe  I  have  loved  you,"  he  said,  "  ever  since  the 
day  I  first  saw  you  at  the  inquest,  and  you  flew  so  like  a 
little  cat  at  Peterkin  when  he  attacked  Harold.  I  used  to 
be  awfully  jealous  of  Hal,  for  fear  he  would  find  in  you 
more  than  a  sister,  but  that  was  before  he  and  Maude  got  so 
thick  together.  I  guess  that's  a  sure  thing,  people  say  so, 
and  it  makes  me  bold  to  tell  you  what  I  have.  Why  are 
you  so  silent,  Jerrie  ?  Don't  you  love  me  a  little  ?  That 
is  all  I  ask  at  first,  for  I  know  I  can  make  you  love  me  a 
great  deal  in  time.  I  will  be  so  kind  and  true  to  you, 
Jerrie,  and  father,  and  mother,  ar  d  Nina  will  be  so  glad. 
Speak  to  me,  Jerrie,  and  say  you  will  try  to  love  me,  if  you 
do  not  now." 

As  he  talked  he  had  drawn  the  girl  closer  to  him,  where 
she  sat  rigid  as  a  stone,  wholly  unmindful  of  the  little  pud- 
dles of  water — and  they  were  puddles  now — running  down 
her  back,  for  Dick  had  tilted  the  parasol  in  snch  a  manner 
that  one  of  the  points  rested  upon  the  nape  of  her  neck. 
But  she  did  not  know  it,  or  think  of  anything  except  the 
pain  she  must  inflict  upon  the  young  man  wooing  her  so 
differently  from  what  Tom  Tracy  had  done.  No  hint  had 
Dick  given  of  the  honor  he  was  conferring  upon  her,  or  of 
his  own  and  his  family's  superiority  to  herself.  All  the 
honor  and  favor  to  be  conferred  were  on  her  side  ;  all  the 
love  and  humility  on  his,  and  for  one  brief  moment  the 
wild  wish  flashed  upon  her  : 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  love  him  as  a  wife  ought,  I  might  be  so 
happy,  for  he  is  all  that  is  noble  and  good  and  true." 

But  this  was  while  she  was  smarting  under  the  few 
words  he  had  said  of  Harold  and  Maude.  lie,  too,  believed 
it  a  settled  thing  between  the  two — every  body  believed  it 
— and  why  should  she  waste  her  love  upon  one  who  did  not 
care  for  her  as  she  did  for  him?  Why  not  encourage  u 
love  for  Dick,  who  stood  next  in  her  heart  to  Harold  ? 
Thus  she  questioned  herself  until  she  remembered  Harold's 


PINES  WITH  DIGS.. 

voice  as  it  had  spoken  to  her  that  morning,  and  the  look  in 
his  eyes  when  they  rested  upon  her,  as  he  said  good-by, 
lingering  a  moment  as  if  loth  to  leave  her,  and  then  Dick's 
chance,  if  he  had  ever  had  any,  was  gone  ! 

Turning  to  him,  she  said:  "  Oh,  Dick,  I  am  so  sorry 
you  have  said  this  to  me ;  sorry  that  you  love  rue — in  that 

way — for  I  can't — I  can't .     I  do  love  you  as  a  friend, 

a  brother,  next  to  Harold,  but  I  cannot  be  your  wife.  I 
cannot/' 

For  a  moment  there  was  perfect  silence  in  the  darkness, 
and  then  a  lurid  flame  of  lightning  showed  the  two  faces — • 
that  of  the  man,  pale  as  ashes,  with  a  look  of  bitter  pain 
upon  it,  and  that  of  the  woman,  whiter  than  the  man's  and 
bathed  in  tears,  which  fell  almost  as  fast  as  the  rain  drops 
were  falling  upon  the  pines. 

Then  Dick  spoke  again,  but  his  voice  sounded  strange 
and  unnatural  and  a  great  ways  off: 

"If  I  wait  a  long,  long  time — say  a  year,  or  two,  or 
three — do  you  think  you  could  learn  to  love  me  just  a 
little  ?  I  will  not  ask  for  much  ;  only,  Jerrie,  I  do  hunger 
so  for  you  that  without  you  life  would  be  a  blank/' 

"  No,  Dick  ;  not  if  you  waited  twenty  years.  I  must 
still  answer  no.  I  cannot  love  you  as  your  wife  should 
love  you,  and  as  some  good,  sweet  girl  will  one  day  love 
you  when  you  have  forgotten  me." 

This  was  what  Jerry  said  to  him,  with  much  more,  until 
he  knew  she  was  in  earnest  and  felt  as  if  his  heart  were 
breaking. 

"•  I  shall  never  forget  you,  Jerrie,"  he  said,  "or  cease  to 
hope  that  you  will  change  your  mind,  unless — "  and  here 
he  started  so  suddenly  that  the  wet  parasol,  down  which 
streams  of  water  were  still  coursing  their  way  to  Jerrie's 
back,  dropped  from  his  hand  and  rolled  off  upon  the  bed 
of  pine  needles  at  his  feet,  -just  where  it  had  been  in  the 
morning  when  Tom  was  there  instead  of  himself — "  unless 
there  is  some  one  between  us,  some  other  man  whom  you 
love.  I  will  not  ask  you  the  question,  but  I  believe  I  could 
bear  it  better  if  I  knew  it  was  because  your  love  was  already 
given  to  another,  and  not  because  of  anything  in  me." 

For  a  moment  Jerrie  was  silent  ;  then,  suddenly  facing 
Dick,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  and  said  : 

"  I  can  trust  you,  I  am  sure  of  that ;  there  is  some  one 


VNDER    THE   P1XES    WITH  DICK  gll 

between  ns — some  one  whom  I  love.  If  I  had  never  seen 
him — and  if  I  had  known  you  just  as  I  do,  I  might  not 
have  answered  as  I  have.  I  am  very  sorry.'" 

Dick  did  not  ask  her  who  his  rival  was,  nor  did  Harold 
come  to  his  mind,  so  sure  was  he  that  an  engagement 
existed  between  him  and  Maude.  Probably  it  was  some  one 
whom  she  had  met  while  away  at  school,  he  thought,  and 
every  nerve  was  quivering  with  pain  and  disappointment, 
when  at  last,  as  the  rain  began  to  cease,  he  rose  at  Jerrie's 
suggestion,  and  offering  her  his  arm,  walked  silently  and 
sadly  with  her  to  the  door  of  the  cottage.  Here  for  a 
moment  they  stood  side  by  side  and  hand  in  hand,  until 
Jcrrie  said  : 

'"'  Dick,  your  friendship  has  been  very  dear  to  me.  I  do 
not  want  to  lose  it." 

"  Nor  shall  you,"  he  answered  ;  and  winding  his  arms 
around  her,  he  kissed  her  lips,  saying,  as  lie  did  so  : 

"  That  is  the  seal  of  our  eternal  friendship.  The  man 
you  love  would  not  grudge  me  that  one  kiss,  but  perhaps 
you'd  better  tell  him.  Good-by,  and  God  bless  you.  'When 
I  see  you  again  I  shall  try  to  be  the  same  Dick  you  have  al- 
ways known." 

For  a  little  while  Jerrie  stood  listening  to  the  sound  of 
his  footsteps  as  he  went  splashing  through  the  wet  grass 
and  puddles  of  water ;  then  kissing  her  hands  to  him,  she 
whispered  : 

'•  Poor  Dick  !  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  love  you  if  I 
had  never  known  Harold." 

Opening  the  door  softly,  she  found,  as  she  had  expected, 
that  both  her  grandmother  and  Harold  had  retired  ;  and 
taking  the  lamp  from  the  table  where  it  had  been  left  for 
her,  she  stole  quietly  up  to  her  room  and  crept  shivering 
into  bed,  more  wretched  than  she  had  ever  been  before  in 
her  life. 


3i2  AT   LE   BATEAU. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

AT  LE  BATEAU. 

HAROLD  got  his  own  breakfast  the  next  morning,  and 
was  off  for  his  work  just  as  the  sun  looked  into  the  win- 
dows of  the  room  where  Jerrie  lay  in  a  deep  slumber.  Sho 
had  been  awake  a  long  time  the  previous  night,  thinking 
over  the  incidents  of  a  day  which  had  been  the  most  event- 
ful one  of  her  life,  but  had  fallen  asleep  at  last.,  and  dreamed 
that  she  had  found  the  low  room  in  Wiesbaden,  with  the 
picture  of  a  young  girl  knitting  in  the  sunshine,  and  the 
stranger  watching  her  from  a  distance. 

It  was  late  when  she  awoke,  and  Peterkin's  clock  was 
striking  eight  when  she  went  down  to  the  kitchen,  where 
she  found  Mrs.  Crawford  sewing,  and  a  most  dainty  break- 
fast waiting  for  her  on  a  little  round  table  near  an  open 
Avindow  shaded  with  the  hop-vines.  There  was  a  fresh  egg 
for  her,  with  English  buns,  and  strawberries  and  cream, 
and  chocolate  served  in  a  pretty  cup  which  she  had  never 
seen  before,  while  near  her  plate  was  lying  a  bunch  of  roses, 
and  on  them  a  strip  of  paper  on  which  Harold  had  written: 

"  The  top  of  the  mornin'  to  ye,  Jerrie.  I'd  like  to  stay 
and  see  you,  but  if  I  work  very  hard  to-day,  I  hope  to  finish 
the  job  on  Monday  and  get  my  fifteen  dollars.  That's  a 
pile  of  money  to  earn  in  three  day.--,  isn't  it  ?  I  hope  you 
enjoyed  the  garden-party.  If  I  had  not  been  so  awfully 
tired  I  should  have  gone  for  you.  Grandma  will  tell  you 
that  I  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep  before  that  shower  came 
up,  so  I  knew  nothing  of  it.  I  wonder  how  jou  got  home; 
but  of  course  Dick  came  with  you,  or  Billy,  or  possibly 
Tom.  I  hear  you  entertained  all  three  of  them  at  the  wash- 
tub  !  Pretty  good  for  the  first  day  home  !  Good-by  till  to- 
night. I  only  live  till  then,  as  they  say  in  novels. 

"HAROLD." 

This  note,  every  line  of  which  was  full  of  affection  and 
thoughtful  ness  for  her,  was  worth  more  to  Jerrie  than  the 
chocolate  or  the  bun,  or  the  pretty  cup  and  saucer  which 


AT    LE    BATEAU.  313 

Harold  had  bought  for  her  the  night  before,  going  to  the 
village,  a  mile  out  of  his  way,  on  purpose  to  get  them  and 
surprise  her.  This  Mrs.  Crawford  told  her,  as  she  sat  eat- 
ing her  breakfast,  which  she  had  to  force  down  because  of 
the  lump  in  her  throat  and  the  tears  which  came  so  fast  as 
she  listened. 

"  You  see/'  Mrs.  Crawford  began,  "  Mr.  Allen  paid 
Ilaiold  two  or  three  dollars,  and  so  he  came  home  through 
the  village,  and  bought  the  eggs,  and  the  buns,  and  the 
chocolate,  which  he  knew  you  liked,  and  the  cup  and  saucer 
at  Grady's.  He  has  had  it  on  his  mind  a  long  time  to  get 
it  for  you,  but  there  were  so  many  other  things  to  pay  for. 
Don't  you  think  it  is  pretty  ?" 

"  Yes,  lovely  I"  Jerrie  replied,  taking  up  the  delicate 
bit  of  china,  through  which  the  light  shone  so  clearly.  "  It 
is  very  pretty ;  but  I  wish  he  had  not  bought  it  for  me," 
and  Jerrie  wiped  the  hot  tears  from  both  her  eyes,  as  Mrs. 
Crawford  continued  : 

"  Oh,  he  wanted  to.  He  is  never  happier  than  when 
doing  something  which  he  thinks  will  please  you  or  me. 
Harold  is  the  most  unselfish  boy  I  ever  knew  ;  and  I  never 
saw  him  give  way,  or  heard  him  complain  that  his  lot  was 
hard  but  once,  and  that  was  this  summer,  when  he  was 
building  the  room,  and  had  to  dismiss  the  man  because  he 
had  no  money  to  pay  him.  That  left  it  all  for  him  to  do, 
and  he  was  already  so  tired  and  overworked  ;  and  then  Tom 
Tracy  was  always  making  fun  of  the  change,  and  saying  it 
made  the  cottage  look  like  a  pig-sty  with  a  steeple  to  it,  and 
that  you  would  think  so,  too  ;  and  if  it  were  his  he'd  tear 
the  old  hut  down  and  start  anew.  Peterkin,  too,  made  re- 
marks and  wondered  where  Harold  got  the  money,  and  why 
he  didn't  do  this  and  that,  but  supposed  he  couldn't  afford 
it,  adding  that  'beggars  couldn't  be  choosers.'  "When 
Harold  heard  all  that,  he  was  tired,  and  nervous,  and  dis- 
couraged, and  his  hands  were  blistered  and  bruised.  His 
head  was  aching,  and  he  just  put  it  on  that  table,  where 
you  are  sitting,  and  cried  like  a  baby.  Wlun  I  tried  to 
comfort  him,  he  Said,  vlt  isn't  the  hard  work,  grandmother; 
I  don't  mii.d  that  in  the  least ;  neither  do  1  care  for  what 
they  say,  or  should  not,  if  there  was  not  some  truth  in  it ; 
things  are  out  of  proportion,  and  the  new  room  makes  the 
rest  of  the  cottage  look  lower  than  ever,  and  I'd  like  so 

14 


814  AT   LE   BATEAU. 

much  to  have  everything  right  for  Jerrie,  who  would  not 
shame  the  queen's  palace.  1  wish,  for  her  sake,  that  I  had 
money,  and  could  make  her  home  what  it  ou«ht  to  be.  I  do 
not  want  her  to  feel  homesick,  or  long  for  something  better, 
when  she  comes  back  to  us.'  " 

Jerrie  was  crying  outright  now ;  but  Mrs.  Crawford, 
who  was  a  little  deaf  and  did  not  hear  her,  went  on  : 

"If  you  were  a  hundred  times  his  sister  he  could  not 
love  you  more  than  he  does,  or  wish  to  make  you  happier. 
He  would  have  gone  for  you  last  night,  only  he  was  so  tired, 
and  I  persuaded  him  to  go  to  bed.  I  knew  somebody 
would  come  home  with  you.  Dick,  wasn't  it  ?  I  thought 
I  heard  his  voice." 

"  Yes,  it  was  Dick,"  Jerrie  answered,  very  low,  return- 
ing again  to  her  breakfast,  while  her  grandmother  rambled 
on  : 

"  Harold  slept  so  soundly  that  he  never  heard  the 
Btorm,  or  knew  there  was  one  till  this  morning.  Lucky  you 
didn't  start  home  until  it  was  over.  You'd  have  been  wet 
to  the  skin." 

Jerrie  made  no  answer,  for  she  could  not  tell  of  that 
interview  under  the  pines,  or  that  she  had  been  wet  to  the 
skin,  and  felt  chilly  even  now  from  the  effects  of  it.  It 
seemed  that  Mrs.  Crawford  would  never  tire  of  talking  of 
Harold,  for  she  continued  : 

"  He  was  up  this  morning  about  daylight,  I  do  believe, 
and  had  his  own  breakfast  eaten  and  that  table  laid  for 
you  when  I  came  down.  He  wanted  to  see  you  before  he 
went,  and  know  if  you  were  pleased ;  but  I  told  him  you 
were  probably  asleep,  as  it  was  late  when  you  came  in,  and 
so  he  wrote  something  for  you,  and  went  whistling  off  as 
merrily  as  if  he  had  been  in  his  carriage,  instead  of  on  foot 
in  his  working  dress." 

"  And  he  shall  have  his  carriage,  too,  some  day,  and  a 
pair  of  the  finest  horses  the  country  affords,  and  you  shall 
ride  beside  him,  in  a  satin  gown  and  India  shawl.  You'll 
see  !"  Jerrie  said,  impetuously,  as  she  rose  from  the  table 
and  began  to  clear  away  the  dishes. 

The  spell  was  upon  her  strongly  now,  and  as  her  grand- 
mother talked,  the  objects  around  her  gradually  faded 
away  ;  the  cottage,  so  out  of  proportion  and  so  humble  in 
all  its  surroundings,  was  gone,  and  in  its  place  fctood  a 


AT   Lfi   BATEAV.  315 

house,  grand  as  Tr.icy  Park  and  much  like  it,  and  Harold 
was  the  master,  looking  a  very  prince,  instead  of  the  tired, 
shabbily  dressed  man  he  was  now. 

"  And  I  shall  be  there,  too,"  Jerrie  whispered,  or  rather 
nodded  to  herself.  "  I  know  I  shall,  and  I  do  not  believe 
one  word  of  the  Maude  affair,  and  never  will  until  he  tells 
me  himself,  or  she ;  and  then — well,  then,  I  will  be  glad 
for  them,  until  J.  come  to  be  really  glad  myself. " 

She  was  moving  rapidly  around  the  kitchen,  for  there 
was  a  great  deal  to  be  done — the  Saturday's  work  and  all 
the  clothes  to  be  ironed,  and  then  she  meant  to  get  up  some 
little  surprise  for  Harold  to  show  him  that  she  appreciated 
his  thoughtfulness  for  her. 

About  half-past  ten  a  servant  from  Le  Bateau  brought 
her  a  note  from  Ann  Eliza,  who  wrote  as  follows  : 

"  DEA.R  JERRIE  : — 

"  Have  pity  on  a  poor  cripple,  and  come  as  soon  as  you  can 
and  see  me.  I  sprained  my  ankle  last  night  in  that  awful 
storm,  and  Tom  had  to  bring  me  home  in  his  arms.  Think 
of  it,  and  what  my  feelings  must  have  been.  I  am  hardly 
over  it  yet — the  queer  feelings,  I  mean — for,  of  course,  my 
ankle  is  dreadful,  and  so  swollen,  and  pains  me  so  that  I 
cannot  step,  but  must  stay  in  my  room  all  day.  So  come  as 
soon  as  possible.  You  have  never  seen  the  inside  of  our 
house  or  my  rooms.  Come  to  lunch,  please.  We  will  have 
it  up  here.  Good-by.  "  From  your  loving  friend, 

"ANN  ELIZA. 

"  P.  S. — I  wonder  if  Tom  will  call  to  inquire  for  me  ?" 

"Tell  her  I  will  be  there  by  lunch-time,"  Jerrie  said  to 
the  man,  while  to  her  grandmother  she  continued  :  "  The 
baking  and  cleaning  are  all  done,  and  I  can  finish  the  iron- 
ing when  I  get  back  ;  it  will  he  cooler  then,  and  I  do  want 
to  see  the  inside  of  that  show-house  which  Harold  says  cost 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Pity  somebody  besides  the 
Peterkins  did  not  live  there." 

And  so,  about  twelve  o'clock  Jerrie  walked  up  to  the 
grand  house  of  gray  stone,  which,  with  its  turrets,  and 
towers,  and  immense  arch  over  the  carriage  drive  in  front 
of  u  side  door,  looked  like  some  old  fuedal  castle,  and 
flaunted  upon  its  walls  the  money  it  had  cost.  Even  the 


316  AT   LE    BATfiAV. 

loud  boll  which  echoed  through  the  hull  like  a  town  clock 
told  the  wealth  and  show,  as  did  the  colored  man  who 
answered  the  summons,  and  bowing  low  to  Jerrie,  held  out 
a  silver  tray  for  her  card. 

"  Nonsense,  Leo  !"  Jerrie  said,  laughingly,  for  she  had 
known  the  negro  all  her  life  and  played  with  him,  too,  at 
times,  when  they  both  went  to  the  district  school,  I  have 
no  card  with  me.  Miss  Ann  Eliza  has  invifed  me  to  lunch, 
and  I  have  come.  Tell  her  I  am  here." 

With  another  profound  bow,  Leo  waved  Jerrio  into  the 
reception-room,  and  then  started  to  deliver  her  message. 

Seated  upon  one  of  the  carved  chairs,  Jerrie  looked 
about  her  curiously,  with  a  feeling  that  the  half  had  not 
been  told  her,  everything  was  so  much  more  gorgeous  and 
magnificent  than  she  had  supposed.  But  what  impressed 
and  at  the  same  time  oppressed  her  most  was  the  height  of 
the  walls  from  the  richly  inlaid  floor  to  the  gayly  decorated 
ceiling  overhead.  It  made  her  neck  ache  staring  up  fourteen 
feet  and  a  half  to  the  costly  center  ornament  from  which 
the  heavy  chandelier  depended.  All  the  rooms  of  the  old 
house  had  been  low,  and  when  Peterkin  built  the  new  one, 
lie  made  ample  amends. 

"  I  mean  to  lick  the  crowd,"  he  said  ;  and  a  man  was 
sent  to  Collingwood,  and  Grassy  Spring,  and  Brier  Hill, 
and  lastly  to  Tracy  Park,  to  take  the  height  of  the  lower 
rooms.  Those  at  Tracy  Park  were  found  to  be  the  highest, 
and  measured  just  twelve  feet,  so  Peterkin's  orders  were  to 
"  run  '-em  up — run  'em  up — run  'em  up  fourteen  feet,  for  I 
swan  I'll  get  ahead  of  'em." 

So  they  were  run  up  fourteen  feet,  and  by  some  mi  stake, 
half  afoot  higher,  looking  when  finished  so  cold  and  cheer- 
less and  bare  that  the  ambitious  man  ransacked  New  York 
and  Boston  and  even  sent  to  London  for  adornments  for 
his  walls.  Books  were  bought  by  the  square  yard,  pictures 
by  the  wholesale,  mirrors  by  the  dozen,  with  bronzes  and 
brackets  and  sconces  and  tapestry  and  banners  and  screens 
and  clocks  and  cabinets  and  statuary,  together  with  the 
costliest  rugs  and  carpets  and  the  most  exquisite  inlaid 
tables  to  be  found  in  Florence  or  Venice.  For  Peterkin 
sent  there  for  them  by  a  gentleman  to  whom  he  said  :  , 

"  Git  the  best  there  is  if  it  costs  a  fortune.  I'm  bound 
to  lick  the  crowd." 


AT   LE    BATEAU.  317 

Tliis  was  his  favorite  expression;  and  when  his  house 
was  done,  and  he  stood,  his  broad,  white  shirt-front  .studded 
with  diamonds  and  his  coat  thrown  back  to  show  them, 
surveying  his  possessions,  he  felt  that  he  "  had  licked  the 
crowd." 

Jerrie  felt  so,  too,  as  she  followed  the  elegant  Leo  np 
the  stairs  and  through  the  upper  hall — handsomer,  if  pos- 
sible, than  the  lower  one — to  the  pretty  room,  where  Ann 
Eliza  lay,  or  rather  reclined,  with  her  lame  foot  on  a 
cushion  and  her  well  one  incased  in  a  white  embroidered 
pi  Ik  stocking  and  blue  satin  slipper.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
delicate  blue  satin  wrapper,  trimmed  with  swan's-down, 
and  there  were  diamonds  in  her  ears  and  on  the  little  white 
hands  which  she  stretched  toward  Jerrie  as  she  came  in. 

"  Oh,  Jerrie,"  she  said,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  for 
it  is  awfully  lonesome  here  ;  and  if  one  can  be  homesick  at 
home  I  am.  I  miss  the  girls  and  the  lessons  and  the  rules 
at  Vassar  ;  much  as  I  hated  them  when  I  was  there  ;  and 
just  before  you  came  in  I  wanted  to  cry.  I  guess  my  rooms 
are  too  big  and  have  too  much  in  them  ;  anyway,  I  have  the 
feeling  all  the  time  that  I  am  visiting,  and  every  thing  is 
strange  and  new.  I  do  believe  I  liked  the  old  room  better, 
with  its  matting  on  the  floor  and  the  little  mirror  with  the 
peacock  feathers  ornamenting  the  top,  and  that  painted 
plastered  image  of  Samuel  on  the  mantel.  It  is  very  un- 
grateful in  me,  I  know,  when  father  has  done  it  mostly  to 
please  me.  Do  you  believe — he  has  hunted  me  up  a  maid, 
just  for  myself,  Doris  is  her  name  ;  and  what  I  am  ever  to 
do  with  her,  or  she  with  me,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  Do 
you?" 

Jerrie  did  not  know  either,  but  suggested  that  she 
might  read  to  her  while  she  was  confined  to  her  room. 

'*  Yes,  she  might,  perhaps,  do  that,  if  she  can  read," 
Ann  Eliza  said.  "  She  certainly  has  pretension  enough 
about  her  to  have  written  several  treatises  on  scientific  sub- 
jects. She  was  a  year  with  Lady  Augusta  Hardy,  in  Ire- 
laud.  Don't  you  remember  the  grand  wedding  father  and 
mother  attended  in  Allingtou  two  or  three  years  ago,  when 
Augusta  Browne  was  married  to  an  Irish  lord,  who  had 
been  bought  by  her  money  ? — for  of  course  he  did  not  care 
much  for  her.  Well,  Doris  went  out  with  her  as  maid,  and 
acts  as  if  she,  too,  had  married  a  peer.  She  came  last 


818  AT   LE    BATEAU. 

night,  and  mamma  and  I  are  already  as  afraid  of  her  as  we 
can  be,  she  is  so  fine  and  airy.  She  insisted  upon  dressing 
me  this  morning,  and  I  felt  all  the  while  as  if  she  were 
thinking  how  red  and  ugly  my  hair  is,  or  counting  the 
freckles  on  my  face,  and  contrasting  me  with  'my  Lady 
Augusta/  as  she  calls  her.  I  wonder  if  she  ever  saw  my 
lady's  mother,  Mrs.  Rossiter-Browne,  who  told  me  once  that 
I  '  had  a  very  petty  fiigger,  but  she  presumed  it  would 
envelope  as  I  grew  older/  But  then  people  who  live  in  glass 
houses  shouldn't  throw  stones/'  and  Ann  Eliza  colored  a 
little  as  she  made  this  reference  to  her  own  father  and 
mother,  whose  language  was  not  much  more  correct  than 
Mrs.  Rossiter-Browne's. 

For  one  brought  up  as  she  had  been  Ann  Eliza  was  a 
rather  sensible  girl,  and  although  she  attached  a  great  deal 
of  importance  to  money,  she  knew  it  was  not  everything, 
and  that  with  her  father's  millions  there  was  still  a  wide 
difference  between  him  and  the  men  to  whose  society  he 
aspired ;  and  knew,  too,  that  although  Jerrie  had  not  a 
penny  iu  the  world,  she  was  greatly  her  superior,  and  so 
considered  by  the  world  at  large.  She  was  very  fond  of 
Jerrie,  who  had  often  helped  her  with  her  lessons,  and 
stood  between  her  and  the  ridicule  of  her  companions,  and 
was  never  happier  than  when  in  her  society.  So  now  she 
made  her  bring  an  ottoman  close  beside  her,  and  held 
her  hand  while  she  narrated  in  detail  the  events  of  the  pre- 
vious night,  dwelling  at  length  upon  the  fact  that  Tom  had 
carried  her  in  his  arms,  and  wondering  if  he  would  call  to 
inquire  after  her.  Jerrie  thought  he  would  ;  and,  as  if  in 
answer  to  the  thought,  Doris  almost  immediately  appeared 
with  his  card.  She  was  very  fine  and  very  smart:,  and 
Jerrie  herself  felt  awed  by  her  dignity  and  manner  as  she 
delivered  her  message. 

"  The  gentleman  sends  his  compliments,  and  would  like 
to  know  how  you  are  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  Jerrie,  it's  Tom  !  he  has  come  !"  Ann  Eliza  said, 
with  joy  in  her  voice.  "  Surely  I  can  receive  him  here,  for 
this  is  my  parlor." 

Jerrie  thought  she  might,  but  the  toss  of  the  fine  maid's 
head  showed  that  she  thought  differently,  as  she  left  the 
room  with  her  mistress'  message. 

"  Thunderation  !  I  didn't  want  to  see  her,    It's  enough 


AT   LE    BATEAU.  319 

to  have  to  call/'  was  Tom's  mental  comment  as  he  followed 
Doris  to  her  mistress'  room. 

"  What.  Jerrie  !  You  here  ?"  heexclaimed,  his  face  clear- 
ing, and  the  whole  aspect  of  matters  changing  at.  once,  as 
she  arose  to  meet  him. 

With  Jerrie  there  the  place  seemed  different,  and  he  did 
not  feel  as  if  lie  were  lowering  himself,  as  lie  sat  down  and 
joined  in  the  dainty  lunch  which  was  brought  up  and  served 
from  Dresden  china,  and  cut  glass,  and  was  as  delicate 
and  dainty  in  its  way  as  anything  he  had  ever  found  at  the 
Brunswick  or  Delmonico's.  Mrs.  Peterkin  prided  herself 
upon  her  cuisine,  which  she  superintended  herself,  and  as 
Peterkin  was  something  of  an  epicure  and  gourmand,  the 
table  was  always  supplied  with  every  possible  delicacy. 

Tom  enjoyed  it  all,  and  praised  the  chocolate,  and  the 
broiled  chicken,  and  the  jellies,  and  thought  Ann  Eliza  not 
so  VITV  bad-looking  in  her  blue  satin  wrapper,  with  the 
swan'-down  trimmings,  and  made  himself  generally  agree- 
able. Maude  was  better,  he  said,  and  he  asked  Jerrie  to  go 
home  with  him  and  see  her.  But  Jerrie  declined. 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  of  work  to  do  yet,"  she  said.  "  I 
must  finish  ironing  those  clothes  you  saw  upon  the  line 
yesterday,  and  so  I  must  be  going." 

Tom  frowned  at  the  mention  of  the  clothes  which  Jerrie 
had  washed  ;  while  Ann  Eliza  insisted  that  she  should  stay 
until  the  dog-cart,  which  had  been  sent  to  the  station  for 
Billy,  came  back,  when  Lewis  would  take  her  home,  as  it 
was  too  warm  to  walk.  Je:r:o  did  not  mind  the  heat  or  the 
walk,  but  she  felt  morally  sure  that  Tom  meant  to  accom- 
pany her,  and  greatly  preferred  the  dog-cart  and  Lewis  to 
another  tete-a-tele  with  him,  for  he  did  not  act  at  all  like  a 
discarded  lover,  but  raiher  as  one  who  still  hoped  he  had  a 
chance.  So  she  signified  her  intention  to  wait  for  the  dog- 
cart, which  soon  came,  with  Billy  in  it,  anxious  when  he 
heard  of  his  sister's  accident,  delighted  when  he  found 
Jerrie  there,  and  persistent  in  saying  that  he  and  not  Lewis 
would  take  her  home. 

"  Well,  if  you  will,  you  will,"  she  said,  laughingly;  and 
bidding  Ann  Eliza  good-by,  and  telling  Tom  to  give  her 
love  to  Maude  and  say  to  her  that  .she  did  not  believe  she 
should  be  at  the  park  that  day,  she  had  so  much  to  do,  she 
was  soon  in  the  dog-cart  with  Billy,  whose  face  was  radiant 


320  AT   LE    BATEAU. 

as  lie  gathered  up  the  reins  and  started  down  the  turnpike, 
driving  at  what  Jerrie  thought  a  very  slow  pace,  as  she  was 
anxious  to  get  home. 

Something  of  Billy's  thoughts  must  have  communicated 
itself  to  Jerrie,  for  she  became  nervous  and  ill  at  ease  and 
talked  rapidly  of  things  in  which  she  had  not  the  slightest 
interest. 

"  What  of  the  lawsuit'  ?"  she  asked.  "  Are  you  likely 
to  settle  it  ?" 

"  No-no,"  Billy  answered,  hurriedly.  "  It  will  h-havo 
to  co-come  into  co-court  in  a  f -few  days,  and  I  am  aw-awful 
sorry.  I  wa- wan  ted  father  to  p-pay  what  they  demanded, 
but  he  won't.  Hal  is  subpoenaed  on  the  other  side,  as  he 
was  in  our  office,  and  is  supposed  to  know  something  about 
it ;  b-but  I  ho-hope  he  won't  da-damage  us  m-much,  as 
father  would  n-never  forgive  him  if  he  went  against  us/' 

"  But  he  must  tell  the  truth,  no  matter  who  is  dam- 
aged," Jerrie  said. 

"  Ye-yes,"  Billy  replied,  "  of  co-course  he  must,  b-but 
he  needn't  volunteer  information." 

Jerrie  began  to  think  that  Billy  had  insisted  upon  com- 
ing with  her  for  the  sake  of  persuading  her  to  caution 
Harold  against  saying  too  much  when  he  was  called  to  tes- 
tify in  the  great  lawsuit  between  Peterkin  &  Co.,  manufac- 
turers in  Shannondale,  and  Wilson  &  Co.,  manufacturers 
in  Truesdale,  an  adjoining  town ;  but  she  was  undeceived 
when  her  companion  turned  suddenly  off  upon  the  river 
road,  which  would  take  them  at  least  two  miles  out  of 
their  way. 

"  Why  are  you  coming  here  ?"  Jerrie  said,  in  real  dis- 
tress. "  It  is  ever  so  much  farther,  and  I  must  get  home. 
I  have  piles  of  work  to  do." 

"  Co-confound  the  work,"  Billy  replied,  very  energeti- 
cally for  him,  and  reining  his  horse  up  under  a  wide  sprea- 
ding butternut  tree,  which  grew  upon  the  river  bank,  he 
sprang  out  and  pretended  to  be  busy  with  some  part  of  the 
harness,  while  he  astonished  Jerrie  by  bursting  out,  without 
the  least  stammer,  he  was  so  earnest  and  so  excited.  "I've 
something  to  say  to  you,  Jerrie,  and  I  may  as  well  say  it 
now  as  any  time,  and  know  the  worst,  or  the  best.  I  can't 
bear  the  suspense  any  longer,  and  I  got  out  of  the  cart  so 


AT   LE    BATEAU.  321 

as  to  stand  where  I  could  look  you  square  in  the  face  while 
I  say  it." 

And  lie  was  looking  her  square  in  the  face,  while  she 
grew  hot  and  cold  and  experienced  a  sensation  quite  differ- 
ent from  what  she  had  when  Tom  and  Dick  made  love  to 
her.  She  had  felt  no  fear  of  them,  but  she  was  afraid  of 
this  little  man,  who  stood  up  so  resolutely,  with  his  tongue 
loosened,  and  asked  her  to  be  hi.s  wife,  making  his  wishes 
known  in  a  very  few  words,  and  then  waiting  for  her 
answer  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face  and  a  firm,  set 
look  about  his  mouth  which  puzzled  and  troubled  her  and 
made  her  uncertain  as  to  how  she  vras  to  deal  with  this 
third  aspirant  for  her  hand  within  twenty-four  hours. 

Billy  had  long  had  it  in  his  mind  that  Jerrie  Crawford 
was  the  only  girl  in  the  world  for  him,  but  he  might  not 
have  spoken  quite  so  soon  had  it  not  been  for  a  conversa- 
tion held  with  his  father  the  previous  night,  when  they 
were  alone  in  a  private  room  at  the  hotel  in  Shannondnle, 
waiting  for  the  train  which  Billy  was  to  take,  and  which 
was  half  an  hour  late.  Peterkin  had  exhausted  himself  in 
oaths  and  epithets  with  regard  to  the  lawsuit  and  those 
who  had  brought  it  against  him,  and  was  regaling  himself 
with  a  cigar  and  a"  glass  of  brandy  and  water,  while  Billy 
sat  by  the  window  watching  for  the  train  and  wishing  him- 
self at  Grassy  Spring  with  Jerrie.  Peterkin  seldom  drank 
to  excess,  but  on  this  occasion  he  had  taken  a  little  too 
much.  When  under  the  influence  of  stimulants,  he  was 
either  aggressive  and  quarrelsome,  or  jocose  and  talkative. 
The  latter  mood  was  on  him  now,  and  as  he  drank  his 
brandy  and  water  he  held  forth  upon  the  subject  of  matri- 
mony, wondering  why  his  son  did  not  marry,  and  saying  it 
was  quite  time  that  he  did  so  and  settled  down. 

"  You  can  have  the  south  wing,"  he  said  ;  "and  if  the 
rooms  ain't  up  to  snuff  now,  why,  I'll  make  'em  so.  The 
fact  is,  Bill,  I've  got  money  enough — three  millions  and 
better ;  but  somehow  it  doesn't  seem  to  do  the  thing.  It 
doesn't  fetch  us  to  the  quality  and  make  us  fnst-cut.  AY</ 
need  better  blood  than  the  Petcrkins  or  the  Mothers — need 
boostin' — and  you  must  get  a  wife  to  boost  us.  Have  you 
ever  thought  on't  ?" 

"  Billy  never  had  thought  of  it  in  that  light/'  he  said, 

14? 


822  AT   LE    BATEAU. 

although  he  had  thought  of  marrying,  provided  the  girl 
would  have  him. 

"Have  you!  Thunderation !  A  girl  would  be  a  fool 
who  wouldn't  marry  three  millions,  with  Lubber-too  thrown 
in  !  Who  is  she  ?"  Peterkin  asked. 

After  a  little  hesitancy,  Billy  replied  : 

"  Jerrie  Crawford/' 

"  Jerrie  Crawford  !  Fll  be  dumbed  !  Jerrie  Crawford  I" 
and  Peterkin's  big  feet  came  down  from  the  back  of  the 
chair  on  which  they  were  resting,  upsetting  the  chair  and 
his  brandy  at  the  same  time.  "  Jerrie  Crawford  !  I  swow  ! 
A  gal  without  a  cent,  or  name  either,  though  I  used  to 
have  a  sneakin'  notion  that  I  knew  who  she  was,  but  I  guess 
I  didn't.  'Twould  have  come  out  afore  now.  Wbuit  under 
heavens  put  her  into  your  noddle  ?  She  can't  boost  !  and 
then  she's  head  and  shoulders  taller  than  you  be  !  How  you 
would  look  trottin'  beside  her  !  Jerrie  Crawford  !  Wall,  I 
swan  ! "  and  Peterkin  laughed  until  his  big  stomach  shook 
like  a  bowl  of  jelly. 

Billy  was  angry,  and  replied  that  he  did  not  know  what 
height  had  to  do  with  it,  or  name  either  ;  and  as  for 
boosting,  he  wouldn't  marry  a  king's  daughter,  if  he  did 
not  love  her  ;  and  for  that  matter  Jerrie  could  boost,  for 
she  stood  quite  as  high  in  town  as  any  young  lady. 

Both  Nina  St.  Claire  and  Maude  Tracy  worshiped  her, 
while  Mrs.  Atherton  paid  her  a  great  deal  of  attention  ; 
and  so  did  the  Hungers  and  Crosbys — enough  sight  more 
than  they  did  to  Ann  Eliza  with  all  her  money. 

"  Mo-money  isn't  ev-everything,"  Billy  stammered,  "  and 
Je-Jerrie  would  make  a  ve-very  different  pi-place  of  Le 
Bateau." 

"Hebby  she  would — mebby  she  would;  but  I'd  never 
thought  of  her  for  you,"  Peterkin  said.  "I'd  picked  out 
some  big-bug,  who  perhaps  wouldn't  wipe  her  shoos  on  you. 
Jerrie  is  handsome  as  blazes  and  no  mistake,  with  a  kinder 
up  and  comin'  way  about  her  which  takes  with  folks. 
Yes,  it  keeps  growin'  on  me,  and  I  presume  Arthur  Tracy 
would  give  her  away,  which  would  be  a  feather  in  your 
cap  ;  but  lord  !  you'll  have  to  git  a  pair  of  the  highest  heels 
you  ever  seen  to  come  within  ten  foot  on  her." 

"  Sh-she's  only  two  inches  t-taller  than  I  am,"  Billy 
said,  and  his  father  continued  : 


AT   LB    BATEAU.  323 

"Wall,  if  your  heart's  set  on  her.  go  it,  and  quick,  too. 
I'm  goin'  to  have  a  smasher  of  u  party  iu  the  fall,  and 
Jerrie'll  be  ju^t  the  one  to  draw.  I  can  see  her  now, 
stand  in' there  with  the  diamonds  we'll  give  her  sparklin' 
on  her  nock,  and  she  lookin'  like  a  qneen,  and  the 
sinecure  of  all  eyes.  But  for  thunder's  sake  don't  marry 
the  old  woman  and  all.  Leave  her  to  Harold,  the  sneuk  ! 
I  never  di.l  like  him,  and  I'll  be  mad  enough  to  kill  him  if 
he  goes  agin  me  in  the  suit,  and  i  b'lieve  he  will." 

At  this  point  Peterkin  wandered  off  to  the  suit  entirely 
and  forgot  Jerrie,  who  was  to  boost  the  house  of  Peterkin 
and  make  it  "fust-cut."-  Bat  not  so  Billy,  and  all  the  way 
from  Shannondale  to  Springfield  he  was  thinking  of  Jerrie, 
and  wondering  if  it  were  possible  that  she  could  ever  look 
upon  him  with  favor.  Like  Tom  and  Dick,  he  could 
scarcely  remember  the  time  when  he  did  not  think  Jerrie 
the  loveliest  girl  in  the  world,  and  ever  since  he  had  grown 
to  manhood  he  had  meditated  making  her  his  wife,  but  had 
feared  what  his  father  might  say,  as  he  knew  how  much 
importance  he  attached  to  money.  Now,  however,  his 
father  signified  his  assent,  and,  resolving  to  lose  no  time, 
Billy,  on  his  return  next  day  to  Le  Bateau,  seized  the  op- 
portunity to  take  Jerrie  home,  as  the  occasion  for  declaring 
his  love,  which  he  did  in  a  manly,  straightforward  manner, 
ncviT  hinting  at  any  advantage  it  would  be  to  her  to  be  the 
wife  of  a  millionaire,  or  offering  any  inducement  in  any  way 
except  to  say  that  he  loved  her  and  would  devote  his  life  to 
making  her  happy.  Tom  Tracy  Jerrie  had  scorned,  Dick 
St.  Claire  she  had.  pitied,  but  this  little  man  she  felt  like 
ridiculing  after  her  first  emotion  of  fear  had  left  her. 

"  Oh,  Billy,"  she  said,  laughing  merrily.  "  You  can't 
be  in  earnest.  Why,  Fin  head  and  shoulders  taller  than  you 
are.  I  do  believe  I  could  pick  you  up  and  throw  you  into 
the  river.  Only  think  how  we  should  look  together  ;  people 
would  think  you  my  little  boy,  and  that  I  should  not  like. 
No,  I  can  never  be  your  wife." 

Nothingcuts  a  man  like  ridicule,  and  sensitive  as  he  was 
with  regard  to  his  size,  Billy  felt  it  to  his  heart's  core  ;  and 
as  he  stood  nervously  playing  with  the  reins  and  looking 
at  Jerrie  sitting  there  so  tall  and  erect  in  all  the  brightness 
of  her  wonderful  beauty,  it  flashed  upon  him  how  impos- 


* 

334  AT    LE    BATEAU. 

sible  it  was  for  that  glorious  creature  ever  to  be  his  wife,  and 
what  a  fool  he  had  made  of  himself. 

"  For-gi-give  me,  Jerrie,"  he  said,  his  chin  beginning  to 
quiver,  and  the  great  tears  rolling  down  his  face.  "  I  know 
you  ca-can't,  and  I  ou-oughtn't  to  have  ask-asked  it,  bu-but 
I  d-d  id  love  yon  so  much,  that  I  f-forgot  how  impossible  it 
was  f-for  one  like  you  to  lo-love  one  li-like  me.  I  am  so 
small  and  insig-insignificant,  and  st-stutter  so.  I  wish  I 
was  dead,"  and  laying  his  head  upon  the  horse's  neck,  he 
sobbed  aloud. 

In  an  instant  Jerrie  was  out  of  the  dog-carfc  and  at  his 
side,  talking  to  and  trying  to  soothe  him  as  she  would  a 
child. 

"Oh,  Billy,  Billy,"  she  said.  "I  am  so  sorry  for  you, 
and  sorry  I  said  those  cruel  words  about  your  size.  It  was 
only  in  fun.  Your  size  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  refusal. 
I  know  you  have  a  big,  kind  heart,  and  next  to  Harold,  and 
Dick,  and  Mr.  Arthur,  I  like  you  better  than  any  man  I 
ever  knew,  but  I  can't  be  your  wife.  Don't  cry,  Billy  ;  it 
hurts  me  so  to  see  you  and  know  that  I  have  done  it.  Please 
stop  and  take  me  home  as  quick  as  possible." 

With  a  great  gulp,  and  a  long  sigh  like  a  grieved  child, 
Billy  dried  his  tears,  of  which  he  was  much  ashamed,  and 
helping  Jerrie  into  the  cart  drove  her  rapidly  to  the  door  of 
the  cottage. 

"  I  should  not  like  Tom,  nor  Dick,  nor  Harold  to  know 
this,"  he  said  to  her,  as  he  stood  a  moment  with  her  at  the 
gate. 

"  Billy  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  do  you  know  me  so  little  as 
to  think  I  would  tell  them,  or  any  body  ?  I  have  more 
honor  than  that,"  and  she  gave  him  her  hand,  which  ho 
held  tightly  as  he  looked  into  the  sweet  young  face  which 
could  never  be  his,  every  muscle  of  his  own  quivering,  and 
telling  of  the  pain  he  was  enduring. 

"  Good-by.  I  shall  be  more  like  a  ma-man,  and  less  a 
ba-baby  when  I  see  you  again,"  and  springing  into  his  cart 
he  drove  rapidly  away. 

Jerrie  found  her  grandmother  seated  at  a  table,  and 
trying  to  iron. 

"  Grandma,"  she  said,  "  this  is  too  bad.  I  did  not  mean 
to  stay  so  long.  Put  down  that  flat-iron  this  minute.  I  am 
coming  there  as  soon  as  I  lay  off  my  hat." 


AT    LE    BATEAU.  325 

Running  np  the  stairs  to  her  room,  Jerrie  put  away  her 
hat,  and  then,  throwing  herself  upon  the  bed,  cried  for  a 
moment  as  hard  as  she  could  cry.  The  look  on  Billy's  face 
haunted  her,  and  she  pitied  him  now  more  than  she  had 
pitied  Dick  St.  Claire. 

"  Dick  will  get  over  it,  and  marry  somebody  else,  but 
Billy,  never,"  she  said. 

Then,  rising  up,  she  bathed  her  eyes,  and  pushing  back 
her  tangled  hair,  stood  for  a  moment  before  the  mirror, 
contemplating  the  reflection  of  herself  in  it. 

"  Jerrie  Crawford,"  she  said,  "you  must  be  a  mean, 
heartless,  good-for-nothing  girl,  for  it  certainly  is  not  your 
Dutch  face,  nor  yellow  hair,  nor  great  staring  eyes,  which 
make  men  think  that  you  will  marry  them  ;  so  it  must  be 
your  flirting,  coquettish  manners.  I  hate  a  flirt,  I  hate  you, 
Jerrie  Crawford  I" 

Once,  when  a  little  girl,  Jerrie  had  said  to  Harold, 
"  Why  do  all  the  boys  want  to  kiss  me  so  much  ?"  and  now 
she  might  have  asked,  "Why  do  these  same  boys  Avish  to 
marry  me  ?"  It  was  a  curious  fact  that  she  should  have 
had  three  offers  within  twenty-four  hours ;  and  she  did'nt 
like  it,  and  her  face  wore  a  troubled  look  all  that  hot  after- 
noon as  she  stood  at  the  ironing  table,  perspiring  at  every 
pore,  and  occasionally  smiling  to  herself  as  she  thought, 
"  Grassy  Spring,  Le  Bateau,  Tracy  Park.  I  might  take 
my  choice,  if  I  would,  but  I  prefer  the  cottage,"  and  then 
at  the  thought  of  Tracy  Park  her  thoughts  went  off  across 
the  sea  to  Germany,  and  the  low  room  with  the  picture  upon 
the  wall,  and  her  resolve  to  rind  it  some  day. 

"  Far  in  the  future  it  may  be,  but  find  it  I  will,  and 
find,  too,  who  I  am,"  she  said  to  herself,  little  dreaming 
that  the  finding  was  close  at  hand,  and  that  she  had  that 
day  lighted  the  train  which  was  so  soon  to  bear  her  on  to 
the  end. 


326  MAUDE. 

CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

MAUDE. 

HAROLD  did  not  finish  his  work  at  the  Allen  farm- 
house until  Tuesday,  so  it  was  not  until  Wednesday 
afternoon  that  he  started  to  pay  his  promised  visit  to  Maude. 
Jerrie  had  seen  her  twice,  and  reported  lier  as  much  better 
and  able  to  be  up,  although  still  very  weak. 

"  She  is  so  anxious  to  see  you.  Don't  yon  think  you 
can  go  this  afternoon  ?"  she  said  to  Harold,  in  the  morning, 
as  she  helped  him  weed  the  garden  and  pick  the  strawber- 
ries for  dinner. 

"Ye-es,  I  guess  I  can — if  you'll  go  with  me,"  he  said. 

He  was  so  loth  to  be  away  from  Jerrie  when  it  was  not 
absolutely  necessary,  that  even  a  call  upon  Maude  without 
her  did  not  seem  very  tempting.  But  Jerrie  could  not  go, 
for  Nina  and  Marian  Raymond  were  coming  to  spend  the 
afternoon,  and  Harold  went  alone  to  the  Park  House, 
where  he  found  Maude  in  the  room  she  called  her  studio, 
trying  to  finir-h  a  little  water-color  which  she  had  sketched 
of  the  cottage  as  it  was  before  the  roof  was  raised. 

"  I  mean  it  for  Jerrie,''  she  had  said  to  Harold,  who 
stood  by  her  when  she  sketched  it,  "  and  I  am  g*oing  i.o  put 
her  under  the  tree,  with  her  sun-bonnet  hanging  down  her 
back,  as  she  used  to  wear  it  when  she  was  a  little  girl,  and 
}'ou  are  to  be  over  there  by  the  fence,  looking  at  me  coming 
up  the  lane." 

It  was  the  best  thing  Maude  had  ever  done,  for  the 
likeness  to  Jerrie  and  to  herself  was  perfect,  while  the  cot- 
tage, embowered  in  trees  and  flowers,  made  it  a  most 
attractive  picture.  Harold  had  praised  it  a  great  deal,  and 
told  her  that  it  would  make  her  famous.  But  when  the 
carpenter  work  came  on  Maude  put  it  aside  until  now, 
when  she  brought  it  out  again,  and  was  just  beginning  to 
retouch  it  in  places,  as  Harold  was  announced. 

She  was  looking  very  tired,  and  it  seemed  to  Harold 
that  she  had  lost  pounds  of  flesh  since  he  saw  her  last. 


MAUDE.  327 

Her  face  was  pale  and  wan,  bnt  it  flushed  brightly  as  he 
came  in.  and  she  went  forward  to  meet  him. 

"  Hally,  you  naughty  boy  I"  she  began,  as  she  gave 
him  her  hand.  "  Why  didn't  you  come  before  ?  You 
don't  know  how  I  have  missed  you.  You  must  not  forget 
me  now  that  Jerrie  is  at  home." 

She  led  him  to  a  seat,  and  then  herself  sank  into  a  large, 
cushioned  easy-chair,  against  which  she  leaned  her  head 
wearily,  while  she  looked  at  him  with  eyes  which  ought  to 
have  told  how  much  he  was  to  her,  and  so  put  him  on  his 
guard,  and  saved  the  misunderstanding  which  followed. 

"No,  Maude,  I  couldn't  forget  you,"  he  said;  and 
without  really  knowing  that  he  was  doing  it,  he  put  his 
hand  upon  the  little,  thin  white  one  lying  on  the  arm  of 
the  chair. 

Every  nerve  in  Maude's  body  thrilled  to  the  touch  of 
Harold's  hand  upon  which  she  involuntarily  laid  her  other 
one.  One  would  have  thought  them  lovers,  sitting  there  to- 
gether, but  nothing  could  have  been  farther  from  Harold's 
mind.  He  was  thinking  only  of  Jerrie,  and  his  resolve  to 
confide  in  Maude,  and  get  her  opinion  with  regard  to  his 
chance. 

"  Now  is  as  good  a  time  as  any,"  he  thought,  wondering 
how  he  should  begin,  and  finding  it  harder  than  he  had 
imagined  it  would  be. 

At  last,  after  a  few  commonplaces,  Maude  told  him 
again  that  he  must  not  neglect  her  now  that  Jerrie  was  at 
home. 

"  Xeglect  you  ?  How  can  I  do  that  ?"  he  said,  "  when 
Hook  upon  you  as  one  of  my  best  friends,  and  in  proof  of  it, 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  something,  or,  rather,  a<k  you  some- 
thing, and  I  hope  yon  will  answer  me  truly.  Better  that  I 
know  the  wor-t  at  first  than  learn  it  afterward." 

Maude's  face  was  scarlet  with  a  great  and  sudden  joy,  and 
her  eyes  drooped  beneath  Harold's  as  he  went  on  stam- 
meringly,  for  he  began  to  feel  the  awkwardness  of  telling 
one  girl  that  he  loved  another,  even  though  that  other  were 
her  dearest  friend. 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  begin,"  he  said,  "  it  is  such  a 
delicate  matter,  and  perhaps  I'd  better  say  nothing  at  all." 

"  Was  he  going  to  stop  ?  Had  he  changed  his  mind — 
and  would  he  not,  after  all,  say  the  words  she  had  so  longed 


328  MA  TIDE. 

to  hear  ?  Maude  asked  herself,  while  he  sat  silent  and  un- 
moved, his  thoughts  very  far  from  her  to  whom  he  was  so 
much. 

Poor  Maude  !  She  was  weak  and  sick,  and  impulsive 
and  mistaken  in  the  nature  of  Harold's  feelings  for  her  ;  so 
judge  her  not  too  harshly,  if  she  at  last  did  what  Arthur 
would  have  called  "  throwing  herself  at  his  head." 

"I  can  guess  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  after  a  pause, 
during  which  he  did  not  speak.  "  I  have  long  suspected  that 
you  cared  for  me,  and  have  wondered  you  did  not  tell  me 
so,  but  supposed  that  you  refrained  because  I  was  rich  find 
you  were  poor  ;  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  those  who 
love  each  other  ?  I  am  glad  you  have  spoken  ;  and  you  have 
made  me  very  happy;  even  if  we  can  never  be  more  to  each 
other  than  we  are  now,  because  I  am  going  to  die." 

"Oh,  Maude,  Maude,  you  are  mistaken.  I — /'came 
from  Harold  like  a  cry  of  horror  as  he  wrenched  away  his 
hand  lying  between  hers. 

What  could  she  mean  ?  How  had  she  understood  him  ? 
he  asked  himself,  while  groat  drops  of  sweat  gathered  upon 
his  forehead  and  in  the  palms  of  his  hands,  as  the  past  came 
back  to  him,  and  he  could  see  that  what  he  had  thought 
mere  friendship  for  himself  was  a  far  different  and  deeper 
feeling,  while  he  unwittingly  had  fanned  the  flame,  and  was 
now  reaping  the  result. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  he  said  aloud,  unconsciously,  while 
from  the  chair  in  which  Maude  was  leaning  back  so  wearily 
came  a  weak  voice  like  that  of  a  child  : 

"  Ring  the  bell,  and  give  me  my  handkerchief." 

He  was  at  her  side  in  a  moment,  bending  over  her,  and 
looking  anxiously  into  the  pallid  face  from  which  the  bright 
color  had  faded,  leaving  it  gray,  and  pinched,  and  drawn. 
Had  he  killed  her  hy  blurting  out  so  roughly  that  she  was 
mistaken,  and  thus  filling  her  with  mortification  and  shame? 
No,  that  could  not  be,  for  as  he  brought  her  handkerchief, 
she  whispered  to  him  : 

"1  am  not  mistaken,  Hully.  I  am  going  to  die,  but  you 
have  made  the  last  days  of  my  life  very,  very  happy." 

She  thought  he  was  referring  to  herself  and  her  situation 
when  he  told  her  she  was  mistaken,  and  with  a  smothered 
groan  he  was  starting  for  the  camphor,  as  she  bade  him  do, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Tracy  herself  appeared. 


MA  UDE.  329 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  sharply;  then,  as  she  saw 
Maude's  face,  she  knew  what  it  was,  and  going  to  her,  said 
to  Harold  : 

"  Why  did  you  allow  her  to  talk  and  get  excited  ?  What 
were  you  saying  to  her  ?" 

Instantly  Maude's  eyes  went  up  to  Harold's  with  an  ap- 
pealing look,  as  if  asking  him  not  to  tell  her  mother  then 
— a  precaution  which  was  needless,  as  he  had  no  intention 
to  toll  Mrs.  Tracy,  or  any  one,  of  the  terrible  blunder  he 
had  madf  ;  and  with  a  hope  that  the  reality  might  dawn 
upon  Maude,  he  answered,  truthfully: 

"  I  was  talking  to  her  of  Jerrie.     I  am  very  sorry." 

If  Maude  heard  she  did  not  understand,  for  drops  of 
pinkish  blood  were  oozing  from  her  lips,  and  she  looked  as 
if  she  were  already  dead,  as  in  obedience  to  Mrs.  Tracy's 
command  Harold  took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  to 
the  couch  near  the  open  window,  where  he  laid  her  down 
as  tenderly  as  if  she  were  indeed  his  affianced  wife. 

"  Thanks,"  she  sighed,  softly,  and  her  eyes  looked  up 
at  him  with  an  expression  which  half  tempted  him  to  kiss 
the  lips  from  which  he  was  wiping  the  stains  so  carefully, 
while  Mrs.  Tracy,  at  the  door,  gave  some  orders  to  a  ser- 
vant. 

"  You  can  go  now,"  she  said,  returning  to  the  couch, 
and  dismissing  him  with  her  usual  hauteur  of  manner ; 
while  Maude  put  up  ber  hand  and  whispered  : 

"  Come  soon — and  Jerrie." 

Had  Harold  been  convicted  of  theft  or  murder  he  could 
scarcely  have  felt  worse  than  he  did  as  he  walked  slowly 
through  the  park,  reviewing  the  situation  and  wondering 
what  he  ought  to  do. 

"  If  it  almost  killed  her  when  she  thought  I  loved  her, 
it  would  surely  kill  her  to  know  that  I  do  not,"  he  thought. 
"I  cannot  undeceive  her  now,  while  she  is  so  weak  ;  but 
when  she  is  better  and  able  to  bear  it,  I  will  tell  her  the 
truth. 

"  And  if  she  dies  ?"  came  to  him  like  the  stab  of  a 
knife,  as  he  remembered  how  white  she  looked  as  he  held 
her  in  his  arms.  "If  she  does,"  he  said,  "no  one  shall 
ever  know  of  the  mistake  she  made.  In  this  I  will  be  true 
to  Maude,  even  should  the  world  believe  I  loved  her  and 
told  her  so.  But,  oh  Heaven  !  spare  me  that,  and  spare 


330  MA  UDE. 

Maude's  life  for  many  years.  She  is  too  young,  too  sweet, 
too  good  to  die." 

This  was  Harold's  prayer,  and  that  of  many  others 
during  the  week  which  followed,  when  Maude's  life  hung 
on  a  thread,  and  every  bell  at  the  Park  House  was  muffled, 
and  the  servants  spoke  only  in  whispers;  while  Frank 
Tracy  sat  day  and  night  in  the  room  where  his  daughter 
lay,  perfectly  quiet,  except  as  she  sometimes  put  up  her 
hand  to  stroke  his  white  hair  or  wipe  away  the  tears  con- 
stantly rolling  down  his  cheeks. 

In  Frank's  heart  there  was  a  feeling  worse  than  death 
itself,  for  keen  remorse  and  bitter  regret  were  torturing  his 
soul  as  he  sat  beside  the  wreck  of  all  his  hopes  and  felt  that 
he  had  sinned  for  naught.  He  knew  Maude  would  die, 
and  then  what  mattered  it  to  him  if  he  had  all  the  money 
of  the  Rothschilds  at  his  command  ? 

"  Oh,  Gretchen,  you  are  avenged,  and  Jerrie,  too  !  Oh, 
Jerrie !"  he  said  one  day,  unconsciously,  as  he  sat  by  his 
daughter,  who,  he  thought,  was  sleeping. 

But  at  the  mention  of  Jerric's  name  her  eyes  unclosed 
and  fixed  themselves  upon  her  father  with  a  look  in  which 
he  read  an  earnest  desire  for  something. 

"What  is  it,  pet?"  he  asked.  "Do  you  want  any- 
thing ?" 

They  had  made  her  understand  that  she  must  not 
speak,  for  the  slightest  effort  to  do  so  always  brought  on  a 
fit  of  coughing  which  threatened  a  hemorrhage.  But  they 
had  brought  her  a  little  slate,  on  which  she  sometimes 
wrote  her  requests,  though  that,  too,  was  an  effort.  Point- 
ing now  to  the  slate,  she  wrote,  while  her  father  held  it : 

"I  want  Jerrie/' 

"I  thought  so  ;  and  you  shall  have  her  for  just  as  long 
as  she  will  stay,"  Frank  said  ;  and  a  servant  was  dispatched 
to  the  cottage  with  the  message  that  Jerrie  must  come  at 
once,  and  come  prepared  to  pass  the  night,  if  possible. 

It  had  been  very  dreary  for  Maude  during  the  time  she 
had  been  shut  up  in  her  room,  to  which  no  one  was  ad- 
mitted except  her  father  and  mother,  the  doctor,  and  the 
nurse.  Many  messages  of  inquiry  and  sympathy,  however, 
had  come  to  her  from  the  cottage,  and  Grassy  Spring,  and 
Le  Bateau,  where  Ann  Eliza  was  still  kept  a  prisoner  with 
her  sprained  ankle ;  and  once  Jerrie  had  written  a  note 


'MAUDE.  331 

full  of  love  and  solicitude  and  a  desire  to  see  her.  As  a 
postscript  she  added  : 

"Harold  sends  his  love,  and  hopes  yon  will  soon  be 
better.  You  don't  know  how  anxious  he  is  about  you. 
AVhy,  I  believe  he  has  lost  ten  pounds  since  your  attack, 
for  which  he  seems  to  blame  himself,  thinking  he  excited 
you  too  much  by  talking  to  you." 

Frank  read  this  to  Maude,  who,  when  he  came  to  the 
postscript  laughed  aloud,  as  a  child  laughs  at  the  return  of 
its  mother,  for  whom  it  has  been  hungering.  This  was  the 
first  word  she  had  had  from  Harold,  except  that  he  had  called 
to  inquire  for  her,  and  she  had  so  longed,  for  something  which 
should  assure  her  that  he  remembered  her  as  she  did  him. 
She  had  no  distrust  of  him,  and  would  as  soon  have 
doubted  that  the  sun  would  rise  again  as  to  have  doubted 
his  sincerity  •  but  she  wanted  to  hear  again  that  he  loved 
her,  and  now  she  had  heard  it,  and,  folding  her  hands  upon 
her  breast,  she  fell  into  the  most  refreshing  sleep  she  had 
had  since  her  illness.  Could  Maude  have  talked  and  seen 
people,  or  if  she  had  been  less  anxious  to  live,  she  would 
probably  have  told  Jerrie  and  Isina,  and  possibly  Ann 
Eliza  Peterkin,  of  what  had  passed  between  herself  and 
Harold,  but  she  had  not  seen  them  ;  while  life,  with  Har- 
old to  love  her,  looked  so  bright  and  sweet,  that  if  by  keep- 
ing silence  she  could  prolong  it,  she  would  do  so  for 
months,  if  necessary.  To  live  for  Harold  was  all  she 
wished  or  thought  about  ;  and  often  when  they  hoped  she 
was  sleeping,  she  lay  so  still,  with  her  eyes  closed  and  her 
hands  folded  upon  her  breast,  she  was  praying  for  life  and 
length  of  days,  with  strength  to  make  Harold  as  happy  as 
he  ought  to  be,  and  was  thinking  of  and  planning  all  she 
meant  to  do  for  him  if  she  lived  and  they  were  married. 
First  to  Europe,  where  she  would  be  so  proud  to  show  him 
the  places  she  had  seen,  and  where  Jerrie  would  be  with 
them,  for  in  all  her  plans  Jerrie  had  almost  as  prominent 
a  place  as  herself. 

<ml  am  nothing  without  Jerrie,"  she  thought.  "She 
keeps  me  up,  and  Jerrie  will  live  with  us,  and  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford ;  but  not  here,  for  Harold  could  never  get  along  with 
mother  and  Tom;  we  will  build  a  house  together,  Hally 
and  I,  with  Jerrie  to  help  and  plan — build  one  where  the 
cottage  stands,  or  near  it,  so  Jerrie  can  still  see  the  old  Tramp 


332  MA  UDE.  ' 

House  she  is  so  fond  of.  Not  a  house  like  this,  with  such 
big  rooms,  but  a  pretty,  modern  Queen  Ann  house,  with 
every  room  a  corner  room,  and  a  bay-window  in  it.  And 
Harold  will  have  an  office  in  town,  and  I  shall  drive  down 
for  him  every  afternoon  and  take  him  home  to  dinner  and 
to  Jerrie." 

Such  was  the  nature  of  Maude's  thoughts,  as  she  lay 
dny  after  day  upon  the  couch,  too  weak  to  do  more  than 
lift  her  hands  or  raise  her  head  when  the  dreadful  par- 
oxysms of  coughing  seized  her  and  racked  her  fragile 
frame.  Still  she  was  very  happy,  and  the  happiness  showed 
itself  upon  her  face,  where  there  rested  a  look  of  perfect 
content  and  peace,  which  her  father  and  mother  had 
noticed  and  commented  upon,  and  which  Jerrie  saw  the 
moment  she  entered  the  room. 

Sitting  down  beside  her,  she  told  her  how  lovely  she 
looked  in  her  pretty  rose-colored  wrapper,  and  how  sorry 
every  one  was  for  her,  and  that  both  she  and  Xina  would 
have  been  there  every  day,  only  they  knew  they  could  not 
see  her.  Then,  as  Maude's  eyes  fixed  themselves  steadily 
upon  her,  with  a  look  of  inquiry,  she  set  her  teeth  hard, 
and  began  : 

"  I  don't  think  any  one  has  been  more  sorry  than  Har- 
old. Why,  for  the  first  few  days  after  you  were  taken  so 
ill  he  just  walked  the  floor  all  the  time  he  was  in  the  house, 
and  when  grandma  asked  what  ailed  him,  he  said,  '  I  am 
thinking  of  Maude,  and  am  afraid  my  call  upon  her  was 
the  cause  of  the  attack.'  '• 

"  N-n — "  Maude  began,  but  checked  herself  in  time, 
and  taking  up  her  slate,  wrote,  "Tell  him  it  was  not  his 
call.  I  am  glad  he  came." 

All  day  and  ail  night  Jerrie  sat  by  her,  sometimes  talk- 
ing to  her  and  answering  the  questions  she  wrote  upon  the 
slate,  but  oftener  in  perfect  silence,  when  Maude  seemed 
to  be  asleep.  Then  Jerrie's  tears  fell  like  rain,  the  face 
upon  the  pillow  looked  so  much  like  death,  and  she  kept 
repeating  to  herself  the  lines  : 

"We  thought  her  dying  when  she  slept, 
And  sleeping  when  she  died." 

When  the  warm  July  morning  looked  in  at  the  windows 
of  the  sick-reom,  bringing  with  it  the  perfume  of  hundreds 


MAUDE.  333 

- 

of  flowers  blooming  on  the  lawn,  and  the  scent  of  the  hay 
cut  the  previous  day,  it  found  Jerrie  still  watching  by 
Maude,  her  own  face  tired  and  pale,  with  dark  rings  about 
her  eves,  which  were  heavy  with  tears  and  wakefuluess. 
She  had  not  slept  at  all,  and  her  head  was  beginning  to 
ache  frightfully  when  the  nurse  came  in  and  relieved  her, 
telling  her  breakfast  was  ready.  Maude  was  awake,  and 
wrote  eagerly  upon  the  elate  : 

"  You'll  come  back  ?  You'll  stay  all  day  ?  You  do  me 
so  much  good,  and  I  am  a  great  deal  better  for  your  being 
here." 

Jerrie  hesitated  a  moment ;  her  head  was  aching  so 
hard  that  she  longed  to  get  away.  But  selfishness  was  not 
one  of  Jerrie's  faults,  and  putting  her  own  wishes  aside, 
she  said  : 

"  Yed,  I  will  stay  until  afternoon,  and  then  I  must  go 
home.  I  did  not  tell  you  that  Harold  was  going  away  to- 
night, did  I  ?" 

Maude  shook  her  head,  and  Jerrie  went  on  : 

"  You  know,  perhaps,  that  some  time  ago  a  Mr.  Wilson, 
of  Truesdale,  sued  Peterkin  for  some  infringement  on  a 
patent,  or  something  of  that  sort/' 

Maude  nodded,  and  Jerrie  continued  : 

•'  The  suit  comes  off  to-morrow,  and  Harold  is  subpoe- 
naed as  a  witness,  as  he  was  in  Peterkin's  office  a  while  and 
knows  something  about  the  arrangement  between  them,  i 
am  sorry  he  has  got  to  swear  against  Peterkin  ;  it  will  make 
him  so  angry,  and  he  hates  Harold  now.  The  suit  is  to  be 
called  in  the  morning  and  Judge  St.  Claire  and  Harold  are 
going  to-night  on  the  five  o'clock  train  ;  and  as  he  may  be 
gone  a  day  or  two  I  must  be  home  to  see  to  packing  his  bag. 
But  I  will  stay  with  you  just  as  long  as  I  can." 

She  said  nothing  of  her  head  which  throbbed  in  a  i. 
peculiar  way,  making  her  dizzy  and  half  blind  as  she  went 
do.vn  to  breakfast,  which  she  took  alone  with  Mrs.  Tracy. 
Frank  had  eaten  his  long  before,  and  was  now  pacing  up 
and  down  the  piazza  with  his  head  bent  forward  and  his 
hand*  locked  together  behind  him. 

Tom  seldom  appeared  until  after  ten,  and  when  Jerrie 
went  for  a  few  moments  into  the  grounds,  to  see  if  the  fresh 
air  would  do  her  good,  she  found  him  Seated,  in  an  arm- 


334  MAUDS. 

» 

chair  under  a  horse  chestnut  tree,  stretching  himself  and 
yawning  as  if  he  were  just  out  of  bed. 

"  Jerrie,  you  here  ?  Did  you  stay  all  night  ?  If  I'd 
known  that,  I'd  have  made  an  effort  to  come  down  to 
breakfast,  though  I  think  getting  up  in  the  morning  a 
bore.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  You  look  as  if  you  were 
going  to  faint.  Sit  down  here,"  he  continued,  as  he  saw 
Jerrie  reel  forward  as  if  she  were  about  to  fall. 

He  put  her  into  the  chair  and  stood  over  her,  fanning 
her  with  his  hat  and  wondering  what  he  should  do,  while 
for  a  moment  she  lost  consciousness  of  the  things  about 
her,  and  her  mind  went  floating  off  after  the  picture  on 
the  wall  in  Wiesbaden,  which  was  haunting  her  that 
morning. 

When  she  came  to  herself,  Tom  and  Dick  and  Billy 
were  all  three  hovering  around,  and  so  close  to  her  that 
without  opening  her  eyes  she  could  have  told  exactly  where 
each  one  was  standing,  Tom  by  the  smell  of  tobacco,  with 
which  his  clothes  were  saturated,  Billy  by  the  powerful 
scent  of  white  rose  with  which  he  always  perfumed  his 
handkerchief,  and  Dick,  because,  as  she  had  once  said  to 
Nina  when  a  child,  he  was  so  clean  and  looked  as  if  he  had 
just  been  scrubbed.  The  two  young  men  had  come  to  in- 
quire for  Maude,  and  had  found  Jerrie  half  swooning  under 
the  tree,  with  Tom  fanning  her  frantically  and  acting  like 
a  wild  man. 

Jerrie  had  seen  Dick  twice  since  her  refusal  of  him, 
and  both  times  her  manner,  exactly  like  what  it  had  always 
been  to  him,  had  put  him  at  his  ease,  so  that  a  looker-on 
would  never  have  dreamed  of  that  episode  under  the  pines 
when  she  nearly  broke  his  heart.  Billy,  however,  was 
more  conscious.  He  had  not  seen  Jerrie  since  he  took  her 
home  in  his  dog-cart,  and  his  face  was  scarlet  and  his  man- 
ner nervous  and  constrained  as  he  stood  before  her,  long- 
ing and  yet  not  daring  to  fan  her  with  his  hat  just  as  Tom 
was  doing. 

Of  the  three  young  men  who  had  sought  her  hand, 
Billy's  wound  was  the  deepest,  and  Billy  would  remember 
it  the  longest ;  for,  mingled  with  his  defeat,  was  a  sense  of 
mortification  and  hatred  of  his  own  personal  appearance, 
which  he  could  not  help  thinking  had  influenced  Jerrie's 
decision. 


MA  TIDE.  835 

"And  I  don't  blame  her,  by  Jove  I"  he  said  to  himself 
a  hundred  times.  "  She  could  not  marry  a  pigmy,  and  I 
was  a  fool  to  hope  it ;  but  I  shall  love  her  just  the 
same  as  long  as  I  live;  and  if  I  can  ever  help  her  I 
will." 

And  when  at  last  Jerrie  was  better,  and  assured  him  so 
with  her  own  sweet  graciousness  of  manner,  and  put  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder  to  steady  herself  as  she  stood  up, 
he  felt  that  paradise  was  opening  to  him  again,  and  that 
although  he  had  lost  Jerrie  as  a  wife,  ke  still  had  her  as  a 
friend,  which  was  more  than  he  had  dared  expect. 

'  *  Are  you  better  now  ?  Can  you  walk  to  the  house  ?" 
Tom  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  the  giddiness  is  gone,"  Jerrie  replied.  "I 
don't  know  what  ails  me  this  morning." 

Never  before  could  she  remember  having  felt  as  she  did 
now,  with  that  sharp  pain  in  her  head,  that  buzzing  in  her 
ears,  and,  mure  than  jill,  that  peculiar  state  of  mind  which 
she  called  her  "  spells,"  and  which  seemed  to  hold  her  now, 
body  and  soul.  Even  when  she  returned  to  Maude's  room 
her  thoughts  were  far  away,  and  everything  which  had 
ever  come  to  her  concerning  her  babyhood  came  to  her 
again,  crowding  upon  her  so  fast  that  once  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  top  of  her  head  was  lifting,  and  she  put  up  her 
hand  to  hold  it  in  its  place.  And  still  she  staid  on  with 
Maude,  although  two  or  three  times  she  arose  to  go,  but 
something  kept  her  there — chance,  if  one  chooses  to  call  by 
that  name  the  something  which  at  times  molds  us  to  its 
will  and  influences  our  whole  lives.  Something  kept  her 
there  until  the  morning  was  merged  into  noon  and  the 
noon  into  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  then  she 
could  stay  no  longer.  The  hour  had  come  when  she 
must  go,  for  the  other  force  which  was  to  be  the  instru- 
ment in  changing  all  her  future  was  astir,  and  she  must 
keep  her  unconscious  appointment  with  it. 


886  "DO    YOU   SNOW 

CHAPTER  XL. 

"  DO  YOU  KNOW  WHAT  YOU  HAVE  DONE  ?" 

JUDGING  from  the  result,  this  question  might  far  better 
have  been  put  to  rather  than  by  Feterkin,  as  he  stood 
puffing,  and  hot,  and  indignant  in  the  Tramp  House,  look- 
ing down  upon  Jerrie,  who  was  sitting  upon  the  wooden 
bench,  with  her  aching  head  resting  upon  a  corner  of  the 
old  table  standing  against  the  wall  ju^t  where  it  stood  that 
stormy  night  years  ago,  when  death  claimed  the  woman  be- 
side her,  but  left  her  unharmed. 

After  saying  good-by  to  Maude,  Jerrie  had  walked  very 
slowly  through  the  park,  stopping  more  than  once  to  rest 
upon  the  seats  scattered  here  and  Ihere,  and  wondering 
more  and  more  at  the  feeling  which  oppressed  her  and  the 
terrible  pain  in  her  head,  which  grew  constantly  worse. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  be  sick,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"I  never  felt  this  way  before ;  and  no  wonder,  with  all  I 
have  gone  through  the  last  few  weeks.  The  getting  ready 
for  the  commencement,  the  coming  home,  and  all  the  ex- 
citement which  followed,  with  three  men,  one  after  another, 
offering  themselves  to  me,  and  the  drenching  that  night  in 
the  rain,  and  then  watching  by  Maude  without  a  wink  of 
sleep,  it  is  enough  to  make  a  behemoth  sick,  and  I  am  so 
dizzy  and  hot — " 

She  had  reached  the  Tramp  House  by  this  time,  and 
feeling  that  she  could  go  no  farther  without  resting,  she 
went  in,  and  seating  herself  upon  the  bench,  laid  her  aching 
head  upon  the  table,  and  felt  again  for  a  few  moments  that 
strange  sensation  as  if  the  top  of  her  head  were  rising  up 
and  up  until  she  could  not  reach  it  with  her  hand,  for  she 
tried,  and  thought  of  Ann  Eliza,  with  her  hair  piled  so  high 
on  her  head. 

"The  loss  of  an  inch  or  two  might  improve  me,"  she 
said,  "  though  I'd  rather  keep  my  scalp." 

Then  she  seemed  to  be  drifting  away  into  the  realms 
of  sleep,  and  all  around  her  was  confusion  and  bewilder- 
ment. 

The  window,   across  which  the  woodbine  was  growing, 


WHAT    YOU    HAVE    DOSEf"  33? 

changed  places  with  the  door ;  the  floor  rose  up  and  bowed 
to  her,  while  the  room  was  full  of  faces,  beckoning  to  and 
smiling  upon  her.  Faces  like  the  one  she  knew  so  well,  the 
pale  face  in  the  chair;  faces  like  her  own,  as  she  remem- 
bered, it  when  a  child;  faces  like  the  dark  woman  dead  so 
long  ago  and  buried  in  the  Tracy  lot,  and  faces  like  Arthur's 
as  she  had  seen  him  oftenest,  when  he  spoke  so  lovingly, 
and  called  her  little  Cherry.  Then  the  scene  changed,  and 
the  old  Tramp  House  was  full  of  wondrous  music,  which 
came  floating  in  at  every  crevice  and  through  the  open  door 
and  windows,  while  she  listened  intently  in  her  dreams  as 
the  grand  chorus  went  on.  It  was  as  if  Arthur,  from  the 
top  of  the  highest  peak  beyond  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and 
Gretchen,  from  her  lonely  grave  in  far-off  Germany,  were 
calling  to  each  other  across  two  continents,  their  voices 
meeting  and  mingling  together  in  the  Tramp  House  in  a 
jubilistic  strain,  now  wild  and  weird  like  the  cry  of  the 
dying  woman  looking  out  into  the  stormy  night,  now  soft 
and  low  as  the  lullaby  a  fond  mother  sings  to  her  sleeping 
child,  and  now  swelling  louder  and  louder,  and  higher  and 
higher,  until  the  rafters  rang  with  the  joyous  music,  and 
the  whole  world  outside  was  filled  with  the  song  of  glad- 
ness. 

Wake  up,  Jerrie  !  Wake  from  the  dream  of  rapture  to 
a.  ivality  far  more  rapturous,  for  the  time  is  at  hand,  the 
hour  has  come,  heralded  by  the  shadow  which  falls  over  the 
floor  as  Peterkin'a  burly  figure  crosses  the  threshold  and 
enters  the  silent  room. 

After  Peterkin's  conversation  with  his  son  concerning 
his  future  wife,  Jerrie  had  grown  rapidly  in  the  old  man's 
favor.  It  is  true  she  had  neither  name  nor  money,  the  lat- 
ter of  which  was  .scarcely  necessary  in  this  case,  but  he  was 
not  insensible  to  the  fact  that  she  possessed  other  qualities 
jmd  advantages  which  would  be  a  help  to  the  house  of  Peter- 
kin  in  its  efforts  to  rise.  No  girl  in  the  neighborhood  was 
more  popular  or  more  sought  after  than  Jerrie,  or  more  in- 
timate with  the  big-bugs,  as  he  styled  the  St.  Claires,  and 
Athrrton.--.  and  Tracys.  Jerrie  would  draw ;  Jerrie  would 
'Ixioxl ;  and  he  found  himself  forming  many  plans  for  the 
young  couple,  who  were  to  occupy  the  south  wing  ;  and  in 
fancy  h<i  saw  Arthur  at  Le  Bateau  half  the  time  at  lca>t, 
while  the  rest  of  the  time  the  carriages  from  Grassy  Spring, 

15 


338  "DO    Y0t7 

and  Brier  Hill,  and  Tracy  Park  were  standing  under  the 
gtone  arch  in  front  of  the  door.  How  then  was  he  disap- 
pointed, and  enraged,  too,  when  told  by  Bill}'  that  Jerrie 
had  refused  him  ? 

Peterkin  had  been  in  Springfield  nearly  a  week,  and 
after  his  return  home  had  waited  a  little  before  broaching 
the  subject  to  his  son  ;  so  that  it  was  not  until  the  morning 
before  the  day  of  the  lawsuit  that  he  learned  the  truth  by 
closely  questioning  Billy,  who  shielded  and  defended  Jerrie 
as  far  as  possible. 

"  Not  have  you  !  Refused  you  !  Don't  love  you  !  Don't 
care  for  money  !  Thunderation  !  What  does  the  girl  mean  ! 
Is  she  crazy  ?  Is  she  a  fool  ?  Is  she  in  love  with  some  other 
idiot  ?  " 

"  I  th-think  so,  yes  ;  th-though  it  did  not  occur  to  me 
then,"  Billy  answered,  very  meekly  ;  "and  if  so  she  ca-can't 
care  for  me  any  mo-more  than  I  ca-can  care  for  any  other 
girl." 

"  And  you  are  a  fool,  too,"  was  the  affectionate  rejoin- 
der. "  I'll  be  dummed  if  you  ain't  a  pair  !  Who  is  the 
lucky  man  ?  Not  that  dog,  Harold,  who  is  go  in'  to  swear 
agin  us  to-morrow  ?  If  it  is,  I  b'lieve  I'll  shoot  him." 

"  Father,"  Billy  cried,  in  alarm,  "  b-be  quiet ;  if  I  can 
st-stand  it,  you  can." 

But  Peterkin  swore  he  wouldn't  stand  it.  He'd  do  some- 
thing, he  didn't  know  what ;  and  all  the  morning  he  went 
about  the  house  like  a  madman,  swearing  at  his  wife,  be- 
cause she  wasn't  up  to  snuff,  and  couldn't  hoe  her  own 
with  the  'ristocrats  ;  swearing  at  Billy  because  he  was  a 
fool,  and  so  small  that  'twas  no  wonder  a  bean-pole  like 
Jerrie  wouldn't  look  at  him,  and  swearing  at  Ann  Eliza  be- 
cause her  hair  was  so  red,  and  because  she  had  sprained  her 
ankle  for  the  sake  of  having  Tom  Tracy  bring  her  home, 
hoping  he  would  keep  calling  to  see  her,  and  thus  give  her 
a  chance  to  rope  him.  in,  which  she  never  could  as  long  as 
the  world  stood. 

"  Neither  you  nor  Bill  will  ever  marry,  with  all  your 
money,  unless  you  take  up  with  a  cobbler,  and  he  with  a 
washwoman,"  was  his  farewell  remark  as  he  finally  left  the 
house  about  three  o'clock  and  started  for  the  village,  where 
he  had  some  of  his  own  witnesses  to  see  before  taking  the 
train  for  Springfield  at  five. 


WHAT    YOV  HAVE   DONE*"  330 

His  wife  had  ventured  to  suggest  that  he  go  in  the 
carriage,  as  it  was  so  warm  ;  but  he  hud  answered  savagely: 

"  Go  to  thunder  with  your  carriage  and  coat-of-arms  ! 
TVhat  good  have  they  ever  done  us  only  to  make  folks  laugh 
at  us  for  a  pack  of  fools  ?  Nothing  under  heaven  gives  us  a 
h'ist,  and  I'm  just  goin'  to  quit  the  folderol  and  pad  it  on 
foot,  as  I  used  to  when  I  was  cap'n  of  the  'Liza  Ann — 
dum  it  ! " 

And  so,  with  his  bag  in  his  hand,  he  started  rapidly 
down  the  road  in  the  direction  of  Shannondale.  But  the 
sun  was  hot,  and  he  was  hot,  and  his  bag  was  heavy,  and, 
cursing  himself  for  a  fool  that  he  had  not  taken  the  car- 
riage, he  finally  struck  into  the  park  as  a  cooler,  if  longer, 
route  to  the  station. 

As  he  came  near  the  Tramp  House,  which  gave  no  sign 
of  its  sleeping  occupant,  something  impelled  him  to  look 
in  at  the  door.  And  this  he  did  with  a  thought  of  Jerrie 
in  his  heart,  though  with  no  suspicion  that  she  was  there  ; 
and  when  he  saw  her  he  started  suddenly  and  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  surprise,  which  roused  her  from  her  heavy 
slumber. 

"  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed,  but  whatever  else  she  might  have 
said  was  prevented  by  his  outburst  of  passion,  which  began 
with  the  question  : 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  have  done  ?" 

Jerrie  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  but  made  no  reply, 
and  he  went  on  : 

"  Yes,  do  you  know  what  you  have  done  ? — you,  a  poor, 
unknown  girl,  who,  but  for  the  Tracys,  would  have  gone 
to  the  poor-house,  sure  as  guns,  where  you  orter  have  gone  ! 
Yes,  you  orter.  You  refuse  my  Bill !  you,  who  hadn't  a  cent 
to  your  name  ;  and  all  for  that  sneak  of  a  Harold,  who  will 
swear  agin  me  to-morrer.  I  know  he's  at  the  root  on't, 
though  Bill  didn't  say  so,  and  I  hate  him  wuss  than  pizen  ; 
he,  who  has  been  at  the  wheel  in  my  shop  !  he  to  be  settin' 
up  for  a  gentleman  and  a  cuttin'  out  my  Bill,  who  will  bo 
wuth  more'n  a  million — yes,  two  millions,  probably,  and 
you  have  refused  him !  Do  you  hear  me,  gal  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  hear  you,"  she  said.  "  You  are  talking  of  Har- 
old, and  saying  things  you  shall  not  repeat  in  my  presence." 

"Hoity-toity,  miss!     AV hat's  to  hinder  me  repeatin'  in 


340  "DO     fOtT   ENOWf" 

your  presence  that  Harold  Hastings  is  a  sneak  and  a  snob, 
a  hewer  of  wood,  a  drawer  of  water,  and  a " 

Jerry  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  stood  up  so  tall  and 
straight  that  it  seemed  to  Peterkiu  as  if  she  towered  even 
above  himself,  while  something  in  the  flash  of  her  blue 
eyes  made  him  think  of  Arthur  when  he  turned  him  from 
the  house  for  accusing  Harold  of  theft,  and  also  of  the 
little  child  who  had  attacked  him  so  fiercely  on  that  wintry 
morning  when  the  dead  woman  lay  stretched  upon  the 
table  at  the  Park  House,  with  her  dark  face  upturned  to 
the  ceiling  above. 

"  I  shall  hinder  you/'  she  said,  her  voice  ringing  clear 
and  distinct ;  "and  if  you  breathe  another  word  against 
HaroLl,  I'-i  turn  you  from  this  room.  The  Tramp  House 
is  mine  ;  Mr.  Arthur  gave  it  to  me,  and  you  cannot  stay  in 
it  with  me." 

"  Heavens  and  earth  !  hear  the  girl !  One  would  s'pose 
she  was  the  Queen  of  Sheby  to  hear  her  go  on,  instead  of  a 
beggar,  whose  father  was  the  Lord  only  knows  who,  and 
whose  mother  Avas  found  in  rags  on  this  'ere  table.  Drat 
the  dum  thing  !"  Peterkin  roared,  bringing  his  fist  down 
with  such  force  upon  the  poor  old  rickety  table  that  it  fell 
to  pieces  under  the  blow  and  went  crashing  to  the  floor. 

Jerrie's  face  was  a  face  to  fear  then,  and  Peterkin  was 
afraid,  and  backed  himself  from  the  room,  with  Jerri  e 
close  to  him,  never  speaking  a  word,  but  motioning  him  to 
the  door,  through  which  he  passed  swiftly,  and,  picking  up 
his  bag,  walked  rapidly  away,  growling  to  himself  : 

"  There's  the  very  old  Harry  in  that  gal's  eye.  Bill  did 
well  to  get  shet  of  her  ;  and  yit,  if  she'd  married  him,  how 
she  would  have  rid  over  all  their  heads  !  Well,  to  be  sure, 
what  a  dum  fool  she  is !" 


WHAT   JERR1E    FOUND.  841 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

WHAT   JEREIE   FOUND    UNDER   THE   FLOOR. 

MEANTIME  Jerrie  had  gone  back  to  the  wreck  of  the 
table,  which  she  handled  as  carefully  and  reverently 
as  if  it  had  been  her  mother's  coffin  she  was  touching.  One 
of  the  legs  had  been  broken  before,  and  she  and  Harold  had 
fastened  it  on  and  turned  it  to  the  side  of  the  house  where 
it  would  be  more  out  of  the  way  of  harm,  and  it  was  this 
leg  which  had  succumbed  first  to  the  force  of  Peterkin's  fist, 
and  as  the  entire  pressure  of  the  table  was  brought  to  bear 
upon  it  in  falling,  it  had  been  precipitated  through  a  hole 
in  the  base  board,  which  had  been  there  as  long  as  she  could 
remember  the  place,  not  so  large  at  first,  but  growing 
larger  each  year,  as  the  decaying  boards  crumbled  or  were 
eaten  away  by  rats. 

Jerrie  called  it  a  rat-hole,  and  had  several  times  put  a 
trap  there  to  catch  the  marauders,  who  sometimes  scamp- 
ered across  her  very  feet,  so  accustomed  were  they  to  her 
presence.  But  the  rats  would  not  go  into  the  trap,  and 
then  she  pasted  a  newspaper  over  the  hole,  but  this  had 
been  torn,  and  hung  in  shreds,  while  the  hole  grew 
gradually  larger. 

Taking  up  the  top  of  the  table,  Jerrie  dragged  it  to  the 
center  of  the  room,  and  putting  three  of  the  legs  upon  it, 
went  to  search  for  the  fourth,  one  end  of  which  was  just 
visible  at  the  aperture  in  the  wall.  As  she  stooped  to  take 
it  out,  a  bit  of  the  decayed  floor  under  her  feet  gave  way, 
making  the  opening  so  large,  that  the  table-leg  disappeared 
from  view  entirely.  Then  Jerrie  went  down  upon  her  knees, 
and,  thrusting  her  hand  under  the  floor,  felt  for  the  missing 
leg,  striking  against  stones,  and  bits  of  mortar,  and  finally 
touching  something  from  which  she  recoiled  for  an  instant, 
it  was  so  cold  and  >limy. 

But  she  struck  it  again  in  her  search,  this  time  more 
squarely,  and  grasping  it  hard  in  her  hand,  brought  it  out 
to  the  light,  while  an  undefinable  thrill,  half  of  terror,  half 
of  joy,  ran  through  her  frame,  as  she  held  it  up  and 
examined  it  carefully, 


342  WHAT   JERRIE    FOUND 

It  was  a  small  hand-bag  of  Russia  leather,  covered  with 
mold  and  stained  with  the  damp  of  its  long  hiding-place, 
while  a  corner  of  it  showed  th;it  the  rats  had  tested  its 
proper  rie.«,  but,  disliking  either  the  taste  or  the  smell,  had 
left  it  in  quiet.  And  there  under  the  floor,  not  two  feet 
from  where  Jerrie  had  often  played,  it  had  lain  ever  since  the 
wintry  night  years  before,  when  it  had  probably  fallen  from 
the  table.  Then  the  rats,  attracted  by  this  novel  appear- 
ance in  their  midst,  had  investigated  and  dragged  it  so  far 
from  the  opening  that  it  could  not  be  seen  unless  one  went 
down  upon  the  floor  to  look  for  it. 

This  was  the  conviction  that  flashed  upon  Jerrie  as  she 
stood,  without  the  power  at  first  to  speak  or  move. 

In  her  ears  there  was  a  roaring  sound  like  the  rushing 
of  distant  waters  falling  heavily,  while  the  objects  in  the 
room  swam  around  her,  and  she  experienced  again  that 
ringing  sensation  as  if  the  top  of  her  head  were  leaving  her. 
She  was  so  sure  that  here  at  last  was  a  message  from  the 
dead — that  she  had  the  mystery  of  her  babyhood  in  her 
grasp — and  yet,  for  full  tsvo  minutes  she  hesitated  and  held 
back,  until  at  last  the  face  which  had  haunted  her  so 
often  seemed  almost  to  touch  her  own  with  a  caress  which 
brought  the  hot  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  the  spell  which  had 
bound  her  hands  and  feet  was  broken. 

The  bag  was  clasped,  but  not  locked,  although  there 
was  a  lock,  and  Jerrie  thought  involuntarily  of  the  key 
found  with  the  other  articles  on  the  dead  woman's  per- 
son. To  unclasp  the  bag  required  a  little  strength,  for  the 
steel  was  covered  with  rust ;  but  it  jielded  at  last  to  Jerrie's 
strong  fingers,  and  the  bag  came  open,  disclosing  first  some 
hard  object  carefully  wrapped  in  a  silk  handkerchief  which 
had  been  white  in  its  day,  but  now  was  yellow  and  soiled 
by  time.  At  this,  however,  Jerrie  scarcely  looked,  for  her 
e}re  had  fallen  upon  a  package  of  papers  beneath  it,  folded 
with  care,  and  securely  tied  with  a  bit  of  faded  blue  ribbon. 

Seating  herself  upon  the  bench  where  she  hud  been 
sleeping  when  Peterkin's  voice  aroused  her,  Jerrie  untied 
the  package,  and  then  began  to  read,  first  slowly,  as  if 
weighing  every  word  and  sentence,  then  faster  acd  faster, 
until  at  last  it  seemed  that  her  eyes  fairly  leaped  from  page 
to  page,  taking  in  the  contents  at  a  glance,  and  compre- 
hending everything. 


UNDER    THE    FLOOR.  S43 

When  she  had  finished,  she  sat  for  a  moment  rigid  as  a 
corpse,  and  then,  with  a  loud,  glad  cry,  which  went  float- 
ing out  upon  the  summer  air,  "  Thank  Heaven,  I  have 
found  my  mother  I"  she  fell  upon  her  face,  insensible  to 
everything. 

How  long  she  lay  thus  she  did  not  know,  hut  when  she 
came  back  to  consciousness  the  sunlight  had  changed  its 
position  in  the  room,  and  she  felt  it  was  growing  late. 

Starting  up,  and  wiping  from  her  face  a  drop  of  blood 
which  had  oozed  from  a  cut  in  her  forehead  caused  by  her 
striking  it  against  some  hard  substance  when  she  fell,  she 
looked  about  her  for  a  moment  in  a  bewildered  kind  of  way, 
not  realizing  at  first  what  had  happened  ;  and  even  when 
she  remembered,  she  was  too  much  stunned  and  astonished 
to  realize  it  all  as  she  would  afterward  when  she  was  calmer 
and  could  think  more  clearly. 

Taking  up  the  papers  one  by  one,  in  the  order  in  which 
she  had  found  them,  she  tied  them  again  with  the  blue 
ribbon,  and  put  them  into  the  bag. 

"There  was  something  more/'  she  whispered,  trying  to 
think  what  it  was. 

Then,  as  her  eye  fell  upon  the  first  package  she  had 
taken  out,  and  which  was  wrapped  in  a  silk  handkerchief, 
she  took  it  up,  and  removing  the  covering,  started  as  sud- 
denly as  if  a  blow  had  been  dealt  her,  for  there  was  a  tor- 
toise-shell box,  with  its  blue  satin  lining,  and  its  diamonds, 
which  seemed  to  her  like  so  many  sparks  of  fire  flashing  in 
her  eyes  and  dazzling  her  with  their  brilliancy. 

Just  such  a  box  as  this,  and  just  such  diamonds  as  these, 
Mrs.  Frank  Tracy  had  lost  years  ago,  and  as  Jerrie  held, 
them  in  her  hand  and  turned  them  to  the  light,  till  they 
showed  all  the  hues  of  the  rainbow,  she  experienced  a  feel- 
ing of  terror  as  if  she  were  a  thief  and  had  been  convicted 
of  the  theft.  Then,  as  she  remembered  what  she  had  read, 
she  burst  into  a  hysterical  fit  of  laughing  and  crying 
together,  and  whispered  to  herself  : 

"I  believe  I  am  going  mad  like  him." 

After  a  time  she  arose,  and  with  the  bag  on  her  arm  and 
the  diamonds  in  her  hand,  she  started  for  home,  with  only 
one  thought  in  her  mind  : 

"  I  must  tell  Harold,  and  ask  him  what  to  do." 

She  had  forgotten  that  he  was  to  leave  that  afternoon 


344  WHAT   JERRIE    FOUND 

on  the  train — forgotten  everything,  except  the  one  subject 
which  affected  her  so  strongly,  so  that  in  one  sense  she 
might  be  said  to  be  thinking  of  nothing,  when,  as  she  was 
walking  with  her  head  bent  down,  she  came  suddenly  face 
to  face  with  Harold,  who,  with  his  satchel  in  his  hand,  was 
starting  for  tho  tr;iin  due  now  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  Jerrie,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  late  you  are  !  I  waited 
until  the  last  minute  to  say  good-by.  Why,  what  ails  you, 
and  where  have  you  been  ?"  he  continued,  as  she  raised  her 
head  and  he  saw  the  strange  palor  of  her  face. 

"  In  the  Tramp  House,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  which 
was  not  hers  at  all,  and  made  Harold  look  more  curiously 
at  her. 

As  he  did  so  he  saw  peeping  from  a  fold  of  the  silk 
handkerchief  the  corner  of  the  tortoise-shell  box  which  he 
remembered  so  well,  and  the  sight  of  which  brought  back 
all  the  shame  and  humiliation  and  pain  of  that  morning 
when  he  had  been  suspected  of  taking  it. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  have  you  in  your  hand  ?"  he 
asked. 

Then  Jerri e's  face,  so  pale  before,  turned  scarlet,  and 
her  eyes  had  in  them  a  wild  look  which  Harold  construed 
into  fear,  as,  without  a  word,  she  laid  the  box  in  his  hand, 
and  stood  watching  him  as  he  opened  it. 

Harold's  face  was  whiter  than  Jerrie's  had  been,  and  his 
voice  trembled  as  he  said,  in  a  whisper  : 

"  Mrs.  Tracy 's  diamonds  \" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Tracy's  diamonds,"  Jerrie  replied,  with  a 
marked  emphasis  on  the  Mrs.  Tracy. 

"  How  came  you  by  them,  and  where  did  you  find 
them,"  Harold  asked  next,  shrinking  a  little  from  the 
glittering  stones  which  seemed  like  fiery  eyes  confronting 
him. 

"I  can't  tell  you  now.  Put  them  up  quick.  Don't  let 
any  one  see  them.  Somebody  is  coming/'  Jerrie  said,  hur- 
riedly, as  her  ear  caught  a  sound  and  her  eye  an  object 
which  Harold  neither  saw  nor  heard  as  he  mechanically 
put  the  box  into  his  side  pocket  and  then  turned  just  as 
Tom  Tracy  came  up  on  horseback. 

"Hallo,  Jerrie  !  hallo,  Hal!"  he  cried,  dismounting 
quickly  and  throwing  the  bridle-rein  over  his  arm.  "  And 
go  you  are  off  to  that  suit  ?"  he  continued,  addressing  him- 


UNDER    THE    FLOOR.  34o 

self  to  Harold.  "  By  George,  I  wish  I  were  a  witness,  I'd 
swear  the  old  man's  head  off ;  for  I  believe  he  is  an  old 
liar !"  Then  turning  to  Jerrie,  he  continued  :  "  Are  you 
better  than  you  were  this  morning  ?  Upon  my  word,  you 
look  worse.  It's  that  infernal  watching  last  night  that  ails 
you.  I  told  mother  you  ought  not  to  have  done  it." 

Just  then  a  whistle  was  heard  in  the  distance ;  the 
train  was  at  Truesdale,  four  miles  away. 

"'You  will  never  catch  it,"  Tom  said,  as  Harold 
snatched  up  his  bag  and  started  to  run.  "  Here,  jump  on 
to  Beaver,  and  leave  him  at  the  station.  I  can  go  there 
for  him." 

Harold  knew  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  make  time 
against  the  train,  and,  accepting  Tom's  offer,  he  vaulted 
into  the  saddle  and  galloped  rapidly  away,  reaching  the 
station  just  in  time  to  give  his  horse  to  the  care  of  a  boy 
and  to  leap  upon  the  train  as  it  was  moving  away. 

Meanwhile  Tom  walked  on  with  Jcrrie  to  the  cottage, 
where  he  would  have  stopped  if  she  had  not  said  to  him  : 

'•'I  would  ask  you  to  come  in,  but  my  head  is  aching 
so  badly  that  I  must  go  straight  to  bed.  Good-by,  Tom," 
and  she  offered  him  her  hand,  a  most  unusual  thing  for  her 
to  do  on  an  ordinary  occasion  like  this. 

What  ailed  her,  Tom  wondered,  that  she  spoke  so  kind- 
ly to  him  and  looked  at  him  so  curiously  ?  Was  she  sorry 
for  her  decision,  and  did  she  wish  to  revoke  it  ? 

"Then,  by  Jove,  I'll  give  her  a  chance,  for  every  time 
I  see  her  I  find  myself  more  and  more  in  love,"  Tom 
thought,  as  he  left  her  and  started  for  the  station  after 
Beaver,  whom  he  found  hitched  to  a  post  and  pawing  the 
ground  impatiently. 

Mrs.  Crawford  was  in  the  garden  when  Jerrie  entered 
the  house,  and  thus  there  was  no  one  to  see  her  as  she  hur- 
ried ui)  ^airs  and  hid  the  leather  bag  away  upon  a  shelf  in 
her  dressing-room.  First,  however,  she  took  out  two  of  the 
papers  and  read  them  again,  as  if  to  make  assurance  doubly 
sure ;  then  she  tried  the  little  key  to  the  lock,  which  it 
fitted  perfectly. 

"There  is  no  mistake,"  she  whispered;  "but  I  can't 
think  about  it  now,  for  this  terri'nle  pain  in  my  head.  I 
must  wait,  till  Harold  comes  home  ;  he  will  tell  me  what  to 
do,  and  be  so  glad  for  me.  Dear  Harold,  his  days  of  labor 

16* 


346  WHAT   JEER1E    FOUND 

are  over,  and  grandmother's,  too.  Those  diamonds  are  a 
fortune  in  themselves,  and  they  are  mine!  my  own!  she 
said  so  !  Oh,  mother,  I  have  found  you  at  last,  but  I  can't 
make  it  real ;  my  head  is  so  strange.  What  if  I  should  be 
crazy  ?  What  if  that  dreadful  taint  should  be  in  my  blood, 
or  what  if  I  should  die  just  as  I  have  found  my  mother  ! 
Oh,  Heaven,  don't  let  me  die  ;  don't  let  me  lose  my  reason, 
and  I  will  try  to  do  right ;  only  show  me  what  right  is." 

She  was  praying  now  upon  her  knees  with  her  throbbing 
head  upon  the  side  of  the  bed,  into  which  she  finally  crept 
with  her  clothes  on,  even  to  her  boots,  for  Jerrie  was  herself 
no  longer.  The  fever  with  which  for  days  she  had  been 
threatened,  and  which  had  been  induced  by  over-study  at 
Vassar,  and  the  excitement  which  had  followed  her  return 
home,  could  be  kept  at  bay  no  longer,  and  when  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford, who  had  seen  her  enter  the  house,  went  up  after  a 
while  to  see  why  she  did  not  come  down  to  tea,  she  found 
her  sleeping  heavily,  with  spots  of  crimson  upon  her  cheeks, 
while  her  hands,  which  moved  incessantly,  were  burning 
with  fever.  Occasionally  she  moaned  and  talked  of  the 
Tramp  House,  and  rats,  and  Peterkin,  who  had  struck  the 
blow  and  knocked  something  or  somebody  down,  Mrs. 
Crawford  could  not  tell  what,  unless  it  were  Jerrie  herself, 
on  whose  forehead  there  was  a  bunch  the  size  now  of  a 
walnut. 

"  Jerrie,  Jerrie,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said  in  alarm,  as  she 
tried  to  remove  the  girl's  clothes.  "  What  is  it,  Jerrie  ? 
What  has  happened  ?  Who  hurt  you  ?  Who  struck  the 
blow  ?" 

"  Peterkin,"  was  the  faint  response,  as  for  an  instant 
Jerrie  opened  her  eyelids  only  to  close  them  again  and  sink 
away  into  a  heavier  sleep  or  stupefaction. 

It  seemed  the  latter,  and  as  Mrs.  Crawford  could  not  her- 
self go  for  a  physician,  and  as  no  one  came  down  the  lane 
that  evening  she  sat  all  night  by  Jerrie's  bed,  bathing  the 
feverish  hands  and  trying  to  lessen  the  lump  on  the  fore- 
head, which,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts,  continued  to  swell 
until  it  seemed  to  her  it  was  as  large  as  a  hen's  egg. 

"  Did  Peterkin  strike  you,  and  what  for  ?"  she  kept 
asking  ;  but  Jerrie  only  moaned  and  muttered  something 
she  could  not  understand,  except  once,  when  she  said,  dis- 
tinctly : 


UNDER    THE    FLOOR.  347 

"  Yes.  Peterkin.  Such  a  blow  ;  it  was  like  a  black- 
smith's hammer,  and  knocked  the  table  to  pieces.  1  am 
glad  he  did  it." 

Mrs.  Crawford  asked  herself  in  vain  what  she  meant,  and 
when  at  lea-t  the  early  summer  morning  broke,  she  was  al- 
most as  crazy  as  Jerrie,  who  was  steadily  growing  worse, 
and  who  was  saying  the  strangest  things  about  arrests  and 
blows,  and  Peterkin,  and  Harold,  and  Mr.  Arthur,  whose 
name  she  always  mentioned  with  a  sob  and  a  stretching  out 
of  her  hands,  as  to  some  invisible  presence.  Help  must  be 
had.  and  for  two  hours  Mrs.  Crawford  watched  for  the  com- 
ing of  some  one,  until  at  last  she  saw  Tom  Tracy  galloping 
up  on  Beaver. 

"Tom,  Tom,"  she  screamed  from  the  window,  "don't 
get  off,  but  ride  for  your  life  and  fetch  the  doctor,  quick. 
Jerrie  is  very  sick  ;  has  been  crazy  all  night,  and  has  a 
bunch  on  her  head  as  big  as  a  bowl,  where  she  says  Peterkin 
struck  her/' 

"  Peterkin  struck  Jerrie  !  Pll  kill  him  !"  Tom  said,  as 
he  tore  down  the  lane  and  out  upon  the  highway  in  quest 
of  the  physician,  who  was  soon  found  and  at  Jerrie's  side, 
where  Tom  stood  with  him  ;  gazing  awestruck  upon  the 
fever-stricken  girl,  who  was  tossing  and  talking  all  the 
time,  and  whose  bright  eyes  unclosed  once  and  fixed  them- 
selves on  him,  as  he  spoke  her  name  and  laid  his  hand  on 
one  of  hers. 

"  Oh.  Tom,  Tom,"  she  said,  "you  told  me  you'd  kill 
her.  Will  you  kill  her  ?  Will  you'kill  her  ?"  And  a  wild, 
hysterical  laugh  echoed  through  the  room,  as  she  kept  re- 
peating the  words,  "Will  yon  kill  her  ?  Will  you  kill  her  ?" 
which  conveyed  no  meaning  to  Tom,  who  had  forgotten 
what  lie  had  said  he  would  do  if  a  claimant  to  Tracy  Park 
should  appear  in  the  shape  of  a  lady. 

Whatever  Jerrie  took  up  she  repeated  rapidly  until  some- 
thing else  came  into  her  mind,  and  when  Mrs.  Crawford  re- 
ferring to  the  bunch  on  her  head,  said  to  the  physician, 
"  Peterkin  struck  the  blow,  she  says,"  she  began  at  once  like 
a  parrot,  "  Peterkin  struck  the  blow  !  Peterkin  struck  the 
blow  !"  until  another  idea  suggested  itself,  and  she  began  to 
ring  changes  on  the  sentence,  "  In  the  rat-hole  ;  in  the 
Tramp  House ;  in  the  Tramp  House ;  in  the  rat-hole," 


348  WHAT   JERRI E    FOUND 

talking  so  fast  that  sometimes  it  was  impossible  to  follow 
h  er. 

The  blow  on  her  head  alone* could  not  have  produced 
this  state  of  things  ;  it  was  rather  over-excitement,  added 
to  some  great  mental  shock,  the  nature  of  which  he  could 
not  divine,  the  doctor  said  to  Tom,  who  in  his  wrath  at 
Peterkin  was  ready  to  flay  him  alive,  or  at  least  to  ride  him 
on  a  rail  the  instant  he  entered  town. 

It  was  a  puzzling  case,  though  not  a  dangerous  one  as 
yet,  the  physician  said.  Jerrie's  strong  constitution  could 
stand  an  attack  much  more  severe  than  this  one  ;  and  pre- 
scribing perfect  quiet,  with  strict  orders  that  she  should  see 
no  more  people  than  was  necessary,  he  left,  promising  to 
return  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  hoped  to  find  her  better. 
Tom  lingered  a  while  after  the  doctor  had  left,  and  showed 
himself  so  thoughtful  and  kind  that  Mrs.  CraAvford  forgave 
him  much  which  she  had  harbored  against  him  for  his  treat- 
ment of  Harold. 

All  night  Tom's  dreams  had  been  haunted  with  Jerrie's 
voice  and  Jerrie's  look  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  and  said, 
"  Good-by,  Tom,"  and  he  had  ridden  over  early  to  see  if  the 
look  and  tone  were  still  there,  and  if  they  were,  and  he  had  a 
chance,  he  meant  to  renew  his  offer.  But  Avords  of  love 
would  have  been  sadly  out  of  place  to  this  restless,  feverish 
girl,  whose  incoherent  babblings  puzzled  and  bewildered 
him. 

One  fact,  however,  was  distinct  in  his  mind — Peterkin 
had  struck  her  a  terrible  blow  in  the  Tramp  House.  Of 
that  he  was  sure,  though  why  he  should  have  done  so  he 
could  not  guess ;  and  vowing  vengeance  upon  the  man,  he 
left  the  cottage  at  last  and  rode  down  to  the  Tramp  House, 
where  he  found  the  table  in  a  state  of  ruin  upon  the  floor, 
three  of  the  legs  upon  it  and  the  other  one  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 

"He  struck  her  with  it  and  then  threw  it  away,  I'll 
bet,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  hunted  for  the  missing  log  ; 
"  and  it  was  some  quarrel  he  picked  with  her  about  Hal, 
who  is  going  to  swear  against  him.  Jerrie  would  never 
hear  Hal  abused,  and  I've  no  doubt  she  aggravated  the 
wretch  until  he  forgot  himself  and  dealt  her  that  blow. 
I'll  have  him  arrested  for  assault  and  battery,  as  sure  as  I 
am  born." 


UXDER    THE    FLOOR.  349 

Hurrying  home,  he  told  the  story  to  his  mother,  who 
smiled  incredulously  and  said  she  did  not  believe  it,  bid- 
ding him  say  nothing  of  it  to  Maude,  who  was  not  as  well 
a>  usual  that  day.  Then  he  told  his  father,  who  started  at 
once  for  the  cottage,  where  Mrs.  Crawford  refused  to  let 
him  see  Jerrie,  saying  that  the  doctor's  order?  were  that  she 
should  be  kept  perfectly  quiet,  and  that  she  did  seem  a 
little  better  and  more  rational.  But  as  they  stood  talking 
together  near  the  open  door,  Jerrie's  voice  was  heard  calling  : 

'•'  Let  Mr.  Frank  come  up." 

So  Frank  went  up,  and,  notwithstanding  all  he  had. 
heard  from  Tom,  he  was  surprised  at  Jerrie's  flushed  face 
and  the  unnatural  expression  of  her  eyes,  which  turned  so 
eagerly  toward  him  as  he  came  in. 

For  a  moment  her  mind  was  tolerably  clear,  and  she 
s;iid  to  him  abruptly,  while  she  held  his  gaze  steadily  with 
her  bright  eves  :  s 

••You  pasted  that  letter?" 

Frank  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  meant  the  letter 
whose  superscription  he  had  studied  so  many  times,  and 
which  had  seldom  been  absent  from  his  thoughts  an  hour 
since  that  night  when,  from  her  perch  on  the  gate-post, 
Jerrie  had  startled  him  with  the  question  she  was  asking 
him  now.  But  he  affected  ignorance  and  said,  as  indiffer- 
ently a<  lie  could  : 

•'•  What  letter  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  \Vliy,  the  one  Mr.  Arthur  wrote  to  Gretchen,  or  her 
friends,  in  Wiesbaden,  and  gave  me  to  post.  You  took  it 
for  me  to  the  office,  and  I  sat  on  the  gate  so  long  waiting 
for  you  to  come  and  tell  me  you  had  posted  it  sure." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  it,  and  how  you  frightened  me 
sitting  up  there  so  high  like  a  goblin/'  Frank  answered,  falter- 
ingly,  his  face  as  crimson  now  as  Jerrie's,  and  his  eyes 
dropping  beneath  her  gaze. 

••  Oretchen's  friends  never  got  that  letter,"  Jerrie  con- 
tinued. 

••.Vo,  they  never  got  it,"  Frank  answered  mechan- 
ically. 

"  If  they  had,"  Jerrie  went  on,  "they  would  have  an- 
swered it,  for  she  had  friends  there." 

nk  looked  up  quickly  at,  the  girl  talking  so  strangely 
to  him.     What  had  she  heard  ?    What  did  she  know  ?  or 


350  WHAT    JERRI E    FOUND 

was  this  only  an  outburst  of  insanity  ?  She  certainly 
looked  crazy  as  she  lay  there  talking  to  him.  He  was  sure 
of  it  a  moment  after  when  she  said  to  him  as  he  arose  to 
go: 

"You  have  been  kind  to  me,  you  and  Maude — 
you  and  Maude — and  I  shan't  forget  it.  Tell  her  I  shan't 
forget  it — I  shan't  forget  it.  Kiss  me,  Mr.  Tracy,  please." 

Had  he  been  struck  by  lightning,  Frank  could  hardly 
have  been  more  astonished  than  he  was  at  this  singular  re- 
quest, and  for  a  moment  he  «tfl.red  blankly  at  the  girl  who 
had  made  it,  not  because  he  was  at  a";l  adverse  to  granting 
it,  but  because  he  doubted  the  propriety  of  the  act,  even  if 
she  were  crazy.  But  something  in  Jerrie's  face,  like  Ar- 
thur's, mastered  him,  and,  stooping  down,  he  kissed  the 
parched  lips  through  which  the  breath  came  so  hotly,  won- 
dering as  he  did  so  what  Dolly  would  say  if  she  could  see 
him,  a  white-haired  man  of  forty-five,  kissing  a  young  girl 
of  twenty,  and  that  girl  Jerrie  Crawford. 

"  Thanks,"  Jerrie  said,  wiping  her  mouth  with  the  back 
of  her  hand.  "  I  think  you  have  been  chewing  tobacco, 
haven't  you  ?  But  I  shant  forget  it ;  I  shall  do  right ;  I 
shall  do  right." 

She  was  certainly  growing  worse,  Frank  thought,  as  he 
went  down  to  confer  with  Mrs.  Crawford  as  to  what  ought 
to  be  done,  and  to  offer  his  services.  He  would  remain 
there  that  afternoon,  he  said,  and  send  a  servant  over  to  be 
in  the  house  during  the  night. 

"  She  is  very  sick,"  he  said ;  "  but  it  does  not  seem  as  if 
her  sickness  could  be  caused  wholly  by  that  bruise  on  her 
head.  Do  you  think  Pererkin  struck  her  ?" 

"She  says  so,"  was  Mrs.  Crawford's  reply,  "though 
why  he  should  do  it,  I  cannot  guess." 

Then  she  added  that  a  servant  would  not  be  necessary, 
as  Harold  would  be  home  by  seven. 

"  But  he  may  not,"  Frank  replied.  "  Squire  Harring- 
ton came  at  two,  and  reported  that  the  suit  was  not  called 
until  so  late  that  they  would  not  probably  get  through  with 
the  witnesses  to-day,  so  Hal  may  not  be  here,  and  I  will 
send  Rob  anyway." 

On  his  way  home  Frank,  too,  looked  in  at  the  Tramp 
House,  and  saw  the  broken-down  table,  and  hunted  for  the 
missing  leg,  and  with  Tom  concluded  that  something  un- 


UNDER    TEE    FLOOR.  351 

usual  had  taken  place  there,  though  he  could  not  guess 
what. 

That  evening,  as  Jerrie  grew  more  and  more  restless 
and  talkative,  Mrs.  Crawford  listened  anxiously  for  the 
train,  and  when  it  came,  waited  and  watched  for  Harold, 
but  watched  in  vain,  for  Harold  did  not  come.  Several  of 
her  neighbors,  however,  did  come ;  those  who  had  gone  to 
the  city  out  of  curiosity  to  attend  the  law-suit,  and  "see 
old  Peterkin  squirm  and  hear  him  swear ;"  and  could  she 
have  looked  into  the  houses  in  the  village  that  night,  she 
would  have  heard  some  startling  news,  for  almost  before 
the  train  rolled  away  from  the  platform,  everybody  at  or 
near  the  station  had  been  told  that  Mrs.  Tracy's  diamonds 
had  been  found  in  Harold  Hastings'  pocket,  and  that  he 
was  under  arrest. 

Snch  news  travels  fast,  and  it  reached  the  Park  House 
just  as  the  family  were  finishing  their  late  dinner. 

"  I  told  you  so !  I  always  thought  he  was  guilty,  or 
knew  something  about  them,"  Mrs.  Frank  exclaimed,  with 
a  look  of  exultation  on  her  face  as  she  turned  to  her  hus- 
band. "  What  do  you  think  now  of  your  fine  young  man, 
who  has  been  hanging  around  here  after  your  daughter 
until  she  is  half-betwaddled  after  him  ?" 

Frank's  face  was  very  grave  as  he  answered,  decidedly  : 

"I  do  not  believe  it.  Harold  Hastings  never  took  your 
diamonds." 

"  How  came  he  by  them,  then  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  loud, 
angry  voice. 

"  I  don't  know/'  "her  husband  replied ;  there  is  some 
mistake ;  it  will  be  cleared  in  time.  But  keep  it  from 
Maude  ;  I  think  the  news  would  kill  her." 

Meantime  Tom  had  sat  with  his  brows  knit  together,  as 
if  intently  thinking  ;  and  when  at  last  he  spoke,  he  said  to 
his  father  : 

"  I  shall  go  to  Springfield  on  the  ten  o'clock  train,  and 
you'd  better  go  with  me." 

To  this  Frank  made  no  objections.  If  his  wife's  dia- 
monds were  really  found,  he  ought  to  be  there  to  receive 
them ;  and,  besides,  he  might  say  a  word  in  Harold's  de- 
fense, if  necessary.  So  ten  o'clock  found  him  and  Tom  at 
the  station,  where  was  also  Dick  St.  Claire,  with  several 
other  young  men,  pacing  up  and  down  the  platform  and 


35-^  HAROLD    AND    THE    DIAMONDS. 

excitedly  discussing  the  news,  of  which  they  did  not  believe 
a  word. 

"I  almost  feel  as  if  they  were  hurting  me  when  they 
touch  Hal,  he's  such  a  noble  fellow,"  Dick  said  to  Mr. 
Tracy  and  Tom.  "We  are  all  as  mad  as  we  can  be,  and  so 
a  lot  of  us  fellows,  who  have  always  known  him,  are  going 
over  to  speak  a  good  word  for  him,  and  go  his  bail  if  neces- 
sary. I  don't  believe,  though,  they  can  do  anything  after 
all  these  years ;  but  father  will  know.  He  is  there  with 
him." 

And  so  the  night  train  to  Springfield  carried  ten  men 
from  Shannondale,  nine  of  whom  were  going  to  stand  by 
Harold,  while  the  tenth,  hardly  knew  why  he  was  going  or 
what  he  believed.  Arrived  in  the  city,  their  first  inquiry 
was  for  Harold,  who,  instead  of  being  in  the  charge  of  an 
officer  as  they  had  feared,  was  quietly  sleeping  in  his  room 
at  the  hotel,  while  Judge  St.  Claire  had  the  diamonds  in 
his  possession. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

HAROLD   AND   THE   DIAMONDS. 

WHEN  Harold  sprang  upon  the  train  as  it  was  moving 
from  the  station  and  entered  the  rear  car,  he  found 
Billy  and  Peterldn  near  the  door,  the  latter  button-holing 
Judge  St.  Claire,  to  whom  he  was  talking  loudly  and  angrily 
of  Wilson,  who  had  brought  the  suit  against  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see  ;  I  know  ;  but  all  that  will  come  out  on 
the  trial/'  the  judge  said,  trying  to  silence  him. 

But  Peterkin  held  on,  until  hi?  eye  caught  Harold, 
when  he  at  once  let  the  judge  go,  and  seating  himself  by 
the  young  man,  began  in  a  soft,  coaxing  tone  for  him  : 

"  I  don't  see  why  in  thunder  you  are  goin'  agin  me,  who 
have  all  us  been  your  friend,  and  gin  you  work  when  you 
couldn't  git  it  any  wheres  else ;  and  I  can't  imagine  what 
you're  goin'  to  say,  or  what  you  know." 

Harold's  face  was  very  red,  but  his  manner  was  respect- 
ful as  he  replied : 


HAROLD    AND    THE    DIAMONDS.  353 

"You  cannot  be  more  sorry  than  I  am  that  I  am  subpoe- 
naed as  a  witness  against  you.  I  did  not  seek  it.  Icouldiiot 
help  it ;  Imt,  being  a  witness,  I  must  answer  the  questions 
truthfully." 

"Thunder  and  lightning,  man  !  Of  course  you  must  ! 
Don't  I  know  that  ?"the  irascible  Peterkin  growled,  getting 
angry  at  once.  "Of  course  you  must  answer  questions, 
but  y«u  needn't  blab  out  stuff  they  don't  a«k  you,  so  as  to 
lead  'cm  on.  I  know  'em,  the  blood-hounds;  they'll 
squeeze  you  dry,  once  let  'em  get  an  inkling  you  know 
sunt  hiiv  more.  Xow,  if  this  goes  agin  me,  I'm  out  at  least 
thirty  thousand  dollars;  and  between  you  and  I,  I  don't 
mind  giviu'  a  coo]  two  thousand,  or  three,  or  mebby  five, 
right  out  of  pocket,  cash  down,  to  anybody  whose  testi- 
mony, without  bein'  a  lie — I  don't  want  nobody  to  swear 
false,  remember — but,  heavens  and  earth,  can't,  a  body  for- 
git  a  little,  and  keep  back  a  lot  if  they  want  to  ?" 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  say  to  me  ?"  Harold  asked,  his 
face  pale  with  resentment,  as  he  suspected  the  man's 
motive. 

••>aytoyou?  ISTothin',  only  that  I'll  give  five  thou- 
sand dollars  down  to  the  chap  whose  testimony  gets  me  off 
and  flings  Wilson." 

••  Mr.  Peterkin,"  Harold  said,  looking  the  old  wretch 
fully  in  the  face,  "  if  you  are  trying  to  bribe  me,  let  me  tell 
you  at  once  that  I  am  not  to  be  bought.  I  >hall  not  volun- 
teer information,  but  shall  answer  truthfully  whatever  is 
asked  me." 

••  (io  to  thunder,  then  !    I  always  knew  you  were  a  bad 

Peterkin  roared  ;  and  as  there  was  nothing  to  be  made 

from    Harold,  he  changed  his  seat  to  the  one  his  son  was 

spying. 

Left  to  himself,  Harold  had  time  to  think  of  the  dia- 
monds, which,  indeed,  had  not  been  absent  from  his  thoughts 
a  moment  since  Jerrie  gave  them  to  him.  They  were  closely 
buttoned  in  his  coat  pocket,  where  they  burned  like  fire,  as 
he  woii'lt-rcd  where  and  how  Jerrie  had  found  them. 

••  In  the  Tramp  House  it  must  have  been,"  he  said  to 
himself;  "but  who  put  them  there,  and  how  did  she  chance 
to  find  them,  and  why  did  she  look  so  wild  and  excited,  so 
like  a  crazy  person,  when  she  gave  them  to  me,  bidding  me 
Jet  no  one  gee  them  ?" 


354  HAROLD    AND    THE    DIAMONDS. 

These  questions  he  could  not  answer,  and  his  brain  was 
all  in  a  whirl  when  the  train  reached  Springfield,  and  with 
the  others,  he  registered  himself  at  the  hotel.  Suddenly, 
there  came  back  to  him,  with  horrible  distinctness,  the  words 
Jerrie  had  spoken  to  him  years  ago,  when  he  walked  home- 
ward with  her  from  the  Park  House,  where  he  had  been 
questioned  so  closely  by  Mrs.  Tracy  with  regard  to  her  dia- 
monds and  what  he  had  been  doing  in  the  house  on  the 
morning  of  their  disappearance. 

' '  I  believe  I  know  where  the  diamonds  are,"  she  had 
said,  and  in  his  excitement  he  had  scarcely  noticed  it;  but  it 
came  back  to  him  now  with  fearful  significance,  as,  after 
the  gas  was  lighted,  he  sat  alone  in  a  little  reception-room 
opening  from  one  of  the  parlors.  Did  Jerrie  know  where 
they  were,  and  had  not  spoken  ?  And,  if  so,  was  she  not 
guilty  in  trying  to  shield  another  ?  For  that  she  took  them 
herself  he  never  for  a  moment  dreamed.  It  was  some  one 
else,  and  she  knew  and  did  not  tell.  He  was  certain  of  it 
now,  as  every  incident  connected  with  her  strange  sickness 
came  back  to  him,  when  she  seemed  to  be  doing  penance 
for  an  other's  fault.  She  had  called  herself  an  accessory,  and. 
that  was  what  she  was,  or  rather  what  the  world  would  call 
her,  if  it  knew.  To  him  she  was  Jerrie,  the  girl  he  loved, 
and  he  would  defend  her  to  the  bitter  end,  no  matter  how 
culpable  she  had  been  in  keeping  silence  so  long. 

But  who  took  them  ?  That  was  the  question  puzzling 
him  so  much  as  he  sat  thinking,  with  his  head  bent  down, 
and  so  absorbed  that  he  did  not  hear  a  step  in  the  adjoining 
room,  or  know  that  Peterkin  had  seated  himself  just  where 
a  large  mirror  showed  him  distinctly  the  young  man  in  the 
next  room,  whom  he  recognized  at  once,  though  Harold 
never  moved  for  a  few  moments  or  lifted  his  head. 

At  last,however,  he  unbottoned  his  coat,  and  after  glancing 
cautiously  around  to  make  sure  no  one  was  near,  ne  took 
the  box  from  his  pocket,  and  holding  the  stones  to  the  light 
examined  them  carefully,  taking  in  his  hand  first  the  ear- 
rings and  then  the  pin,  and  holdingthem  in  such  a  way  that 
two  or  three  times  they  flashed  directly  in  the  eyes  of  the 
cruel  man  watching  him. 

"Yes,  they  are  Mrs.  Tracy's  diamonds  :  there  can  be 
no  mistake,"  he  whispered,  just  as  he  became  conscious  that 
there  was  some  one  in  the  door  looking  at  him. 


HAROLD    AND    THE    DIAMONDS.  355 

Quick  as  thought  he  put  the  box  out  of  sight  while 
Peterkin's  voice,  exultant  and  hateful  called  out : 

"  Hallo,  Mr.  Prayer-book,  your  piety  won't  let  you  keep 
back  a  darned  thing  you  know  agin  me,  but  it  lets  you  have 
in  your  possession  diamonds  which  I'd  eenamost  swear  was 
them  stones  Miss  Tracy  lost  years  ago  and  suspected  you  of 
takin'.  I  know  the  box  any  way,  I  heard  it  described  so 
often,  and  I  b'lieve  I  know  them  diamonds.  I  seen  'em 
in  the  looking-glass  settin'  in  t'other  room,  and  seen  you 
look  all  round  like  a  thief  afore  you  opened  'em.  So 
fork  over,  and  mebby  you  can  give  me  back  May  Jane's 
pin  you  slole  at  the  party  the  night  Mr.  Arthur  came  home. 
Fork  over  I  say  !" 

Too  much  astonished  at  first  to  speak,  Harold  looked  at 
the  man  who  had  attacked  him  so  brutally,  while  his  hand 
closed  tightly  over  the  diamonds  in  his  pocket,  as  if  fearing 
they  might  be  wrenched  from  him  by  force. 

"  Will  you  fork  over,  or  shall  I  call  the  perlice  ?"  Peter- 
kin  asked. 

"  (Jail  the  police  as  soon  as  you  like,"  Harold  replied, 
"  but  I  shall  not  give  you  the  diamonds." 

"  Then  you  own  that  you've  got  'em  !  That's  half  the 
battle  !"  Peterkin  said,  coming  close  up  to  him,  and  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  meaning  smile  more  detestable  than  any 
menace  could  have  been.  "  I  know  you  have  got  'em,  and 
I  can  ruin  you  if  I  try,  aud  then  what'll  your  doxie  think 
of  you  !  Will  she  refuse  my  Bill  for  a  thief,  aud  treat  me 
as  if  I  was  dirt  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?"  Harold  demanded,  feeling 
intuitively  that  by  his  doxie  Jerrie  was  meant,  and  feeling 
a  great  horror,  too,  lest  by  some  means  her  name  should 
be  mixed  up  with  the  affair  before  she  had  a  chance  to 
explain. 

The  reference  to  Billy  was  a  puzzle,  but  Peterkin  did 
not  long  leave  him  in  doubt. 

"  I  mean  that  you  think  yourself  very  fine,  and  always 
have,  and  that  are  gal  of  the  carpet-bag  thinks  herself  fine, 
too,  and  refused  my  Bill  for  you,  who  hain't  a  cent  in  the 
world.  I  seen  it  in  her  face  when  I  twitted  her  on  it,  and 
she  riz  up  agin' me  like  a  catamount.  But  I'll  be  even  with 
you  both  yit.  I've  got  you  in  my  power,  young  man, 
but "  and  here  he  came  a  step  or  two  nearer  to  Harold 


R56  HAROLD    AND     THE    DIAMONDS. 

and  dropping  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  said  :  "  I  shan'n't  do 
nothin'.  nor  say  nothin'  till  you've  gin  your  evidence,  and 
if  you  can  hold  your  tongue  I  will.  You  tickle  me,  and  I'll 
tickle  you  !  See  ?" 

Harold  was  too  indignant  to  reply,  and  feeling  that  he 
was  degrading  himself  every  moment  he  spent  in  the  pres- 
ence of  such  a  man,  he  left  the  room  without  a  word,  and 
went  to  his  own  apartment,  but  not  to  sleep,  for  never  had 
he  spent  so  wretched  a  night  as  that  which  followed  his 
interview  with  Peterkin.  Of  what  the  man  could  do  to 
him,  he  had  no  fear.  His  anxiety  was  all  for  Jerrie. 
Where  did  she  find  the  diamonds,  and  for  whom  had  she 
kept  silence  so  long  ?  and  what  would  be  said  of  the  act 
when  it  was  known,  as  it  might  be,  though  not  from  him  ? 

Two  or  three  times  he  arose  and  lighting  the  gas, 
examined  the  diamonds  carefully  to  see  if  there  were  not 
some  mistake.  But  there  could  be  none.  He  had  seen 
them  on  the  lady's  person  and  had  heard  them  described 
so  accurately  that  he  could  not  be  mistaken  ;  and  then  the 
box  was  the  same  he  had  once  seen  when  Jack  took  him  to 
his  mother's  room  to  show  him  what  Uncle  Arthur  had 
brought.  That  was  a  tortoise  shell  of  an  oval  shape,  and 
lined  with  blue  satin,  and  this  was  a  tortoise  shell,  oval- 
shaped,  and  lined  with  blue  satin.  Harold  felt,  when  at 
last  the  daylight  shone  into  hisj*oom,  that  if  it  had  tarried 
a  moment  longer  he  must  have  gone  mad.  He  was  very 
Avhite  and  haggard,  and  there  were  dark  rings  under  his 
eyes  when  he  went  down  to  the  office,  where  the  first  per- 
son he  met  was  Billy,  who  also  looked  pale  and  worn,  with 
a  different  expression  upon  his  face  from  anything  Harold 
had  ever  seen  before.  It  was  as  if  all  life  and  hope  had 
gone,  leaving  him  nothing  now  to  care  for.  In  his  anxiety 
and  worry  about  the  diamonds  Harold  had  scarcely  given  a 
thought  to  what  Peterkin  had  said  of  Jerrie's  refusal  of 
Billy,  for  it  seemed  so  improbable  that  the  latter  would  pre- 
sume to  offer  himself  to  her  ;  but  at  sight  of  Billy's  face  it 
came  back  to  him  with  a  throb  of  pity  for  the  man,  and  a 
thrill  of  joy  for  himself  for  whom  Peterkin  had  said  his  son 
was  rejected. 

"  Does  Billy  know  of  the  diamonds,  I  wonder  ?"  he 
thought. 

4s  if  to  answer  the  question  in  the  negative,  Billy  camp 


HAROLD    AND    THE   DIAMONDS.  85? 

quickly  forward,  and,  offering  his  hand,  bade  Harold  good- 
morning,  and  then  motioning  him  to  a  seat,  took  one  be- 
side him,  and  began : 

"I'm  awful  sorry,  Hal,  th-thatyou  are  mix-mixed  up  in 
th-this,  but  I  sup-snppose  you  m-must  t-tell  the  truth." 

"Yes,  I  must  tell  the  truth/'  Harold  said. 

" Fa-father  will  be  so  in-mad,"  Billy  continued.  "I 
wi-wisli  I  could  t-t-testify  f-for  you,  bu-but  I  can't.  You 
were  th-there,  I  wa-wan't,  and  all  I  know  fa-father  told  me  ; 
bu-but  d-dont  volunteer  information." 

"Xo,"  Haro  d  said,  slowly,  wishing  that  the  ocean  were 
rolling  between  him  and  this  detes'able  suit. 

Once  he  resolved  to  go  to  Judge  St.  Claire,  deliver  up 
the  diamonds,  and  tell  him  all  he  knew  about  them,  but 
this  would  be  bringing  Jerrie  into  the  matter,  and  so  he 
changed  his  mind  and  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  town 
until  it  was  time  for  him  to  appear  at  the  court-house, 
where  a  crowd  was  gathering.  It  was  late  before  the  suit 
known  as  Wilson  vs.  Peterkin  was  called,  and  later  still 
when  Harold  took  the  stand. 

"White  and  trembling,  so  that  both  his  hands  and  his 
knees  were  shaking  visibly,  he  looked  more  like  a  criminal 
than  a  witness,  and  he  was  so  agitated  and  pre-occupied, 
too,  that  at  first  his  answers  were  given  at  random, 
as  if  he  hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying  ;  nor  did  he,  for 
over  and  beyond  the  sea  of  faces  confronting  him,  Judge 
St.  Claire's  wondering  and  curious — Bi  ly's  wondering,  too 
—Wilson's  disappointed  and  surprised,  and  Peterkin's 
threatening  and  exultant  by  turns — he  saw  only  Jerrie 
coming  to  him  in  the  lane  and  asking  him  to  keep  the  dia- 
monds for  her — saw  her,  too,  away  back  years  ago  in 
the  little  room,  with  her  fever-stained  cheeks  and  shorn 
head,  talking  the  strangest  things  of  prisons,  and  substi- 
tutes, and  accessories,  and  assuring  some  one  that  she 
would  never  tell,  and  was  going  for  him,  if  necessary. 

Who  was  that  man  ?  Where  was  he  now  ?  and  why 
had  he  imposed  this  terrible  secret  upon  Jerrie  ? 

These  were  the  thoughts  crowding  through  his  brain 
while  he  was  being  questioned  as  to  what  he  knew  of  the 
agreement  between  the  plaintiff  and  defendant  while  in  the 
office  of  the  latter.  Once  a  thought  of  Maude  crossed  his 
mind  with  a  keen  pang  of  regret,  as  he  remembered  the 


358  HAROLD    AND    THE   DIAMONDS. 

lovely  face  which  had  smiled  so  fondly  upon  him,  mistak- 
ing his  meaning  utterly,  and  appropriating  to  herself  the 
love  he  was  trying  to  tell  her  was  another  s.  And  with 
thoughts  of  Maude  there  came  a  thought  of  Arthur,  the 
very  first  which  Harold  had  given  him.  Arthur,  the  crazy 
man,  who  himself  had  hidden  the  diamonds,  and  for  whom 
Jerrie  was  ready, to  sacrifice  so  much.  It  was  clear  as  day- 
light to  him  now,  the  anxiety  and  strain  were  over,  and 
those  who  were  watching  him  so  intently  as  he  gave  his 
answers  at  random,  with  the  sweat  pouring  down  his  face, 
were  electrified  at  the  start  he  gave  as  he  carne  to  himself 
and  realized  for  the  first  time  where  he  was,  and  why  he 
was  there.  Arthur  would  never  see  Jerrie  wronged.  She 
was  safe,  and  with  this  load  lifted  from  him,  he  gave  his 
whole  attention  to  the  business  on  hand,  answering  the 
questions  now  clearly  and  distinctly. 

When  at  last  the  lawyer  said  to  him,  "Repeat  what  you 
can  remember  of  the  conversation  which  took  place  between 

the  plaintiff  and  defendant  on  the  morning  of ,  18 — ," 

he  gave  one  sorry  look  at  poor  Billy,  who  was  the  picture  of 
shame  and  confusion,  and  then,  in  a  clear,  distinct  voice, 
which  filled  every  corner  of  the  room,  told  what  he  had 
heard  said  in  his  presence,  and  what  he  knew  of  the  trans- 
action, proving  conclusively  that  the  plaintiff  was  right  and 
Peterkin  a  rascal,  and  this  in  the  face  of  the  man  who  had 
ask  him  not  to  blab,  and  who  shook  his  fist  at  him  threat- 
eningly as  the  narrative  went  on. 

"  Would  you  believe  the  defendant  under  oath  ?"  was 
asked  at  the  close,  and  Harold  answered,  promptly  : 

"Under  oath — yes/' 

"  Would  you,  if  not  under  oath  ?" 

"  If  an  untruth  would  be  to  his  advantage,  no,"  and  then 
Harold  was  through. 

As  he  stepped  down  from  the  witness  stand  old  Peterkin 
awe,  so  angry,  that  at  first  he  could  scarcely  articulate  his 
words. 

"  You  dog !  you  liar  !  you  thief  !"  he  screamed  ;  "  to 
stand  there  and  lie  so  about  me  !  I'll  teach  you— I'll  show 
'em  what  you  are.  If  there's  a  perlice,  I  call  on  'em  to  ar- 
rest this  feller  for  them  diamonds  of  Miss  Tracy's!  They 
are  in  his  pocket— or  was  last  night.  I  seen  'em  myself,  and 
he  dassent  deny  it." 


HAROLD    A3D    TIT8    DIAMONDS.  859 

By  this  time  the  court-house  was  in  wild  confusion,  as 
the  spectators  arose  from  their  seats  and  pressed  forward  to 
where  Peterkin  stood  denouncing  Harold,  who  looked  as  if 
he  were  going  to  faint,  as  Billy  hastened  to  his  side,  whis 
pering : 

"Le-lean  on  me,  and  I  will  get  you  out  of  this.  Fa-*ith*r 
is  mad." 

But  order  was  soon  restored,  though  not  until  Pete/k> 
had  yelled  again,  as  Harold  was  leaving  the  room : 

"  Search  him,  I  tell  you  !  Don't  let  him  escape  1  JTe'p 
got  'em  in  his  pocket — Miss  Tracy's  diamonds  !  Lord  ol 
heavens  !  don't  you  remember  the  row  there  was  about  'em 
years  ago  ?" 

Of  what  followed  during  the  next  hour  Harold  knew  very 
little.  There  was  a  crowd  around  him,  and  cries  of  "He 
is  going  to  faint  I"  while  Billy's  stammering  voice  called, 
pleadingly,  "  St-stand  back,  ca-can't  you,  and  gi-give  him 
air/' 

Then  a  deluge  of  Water  in  his  face  ;  then  a  great  dark- 
ness, and  the  voices  sounded  a  long  way  off,  and  he  felt  so 
tired  and  sleepy,  and  thought  of  Jerrie,  and  Maude,  and 
lived  over  again  the  scene  in  the  Tramp  House,  when  he 
found  the  former  in  the  bag,  and  felt  her  arms  around  his 
neck  as  he  staggered  with  her  through  the  snow,  wondering 
why  she  was  so  heavy,  and  why  her  feet  were  dragging  on 
the  ground.  When  he  came  more  fully  to  himself,  he  was 
in  a  little  room  in  the  court-house,  and  Billy's  arm  washing 
protectingly  across  his  shoulder,  while  Billy's  father  was 
bellowing  like  a  bull  : 

"Be  you  goin'  to  let  him  go  ?  Ain't  you  goin'  to  git  a 
writ  and  arrest  him?  Why  don't  you  handcuff  him,  some- 
body ?  And  you,  Bill,  be  you  a  fool  to  stan'  there  huggin' 
him  as  if  he  was  a  gal !  What  do  you  mean?" 

"Ha-Hal  is  my  fr-friend,  father.  He  never  to-took 
the  diamonds,"  Billy  answered,  sadly,  while  Judge  St. 
Claire,  who  had  the  box  of  jewels  in  his  hand  and  was  look- 
ing very  anxious,  turned  to  the  angry  man,  clamoring  so 
loudly  for  a  writ,  and  said,  sternly  : 

"Even  if  Harold  took  the  diamonds — which  he  did 
not,  I  am  certain  of  that — there  is  some  mistake  which  he 
will  explain ;  but  if  he  took  them,  it  is  too  late  to  arrest  him. 
A  theft  committed  ten  years  ago  cannot  be  punished  now." 


SCO  HAROLD    AND    THE   DIAMONDS. 

"May  the  Lord  give  you  sense/'  Peterkin  rejoined, 
with  a  derisive  laugh.  "Don't  tell  me  that  a  body  can't 
be  punished  for  stealin'  diamonds  ef  'twas  done  a  hundred 
years  ago." 

"  But  it  is  true,  nevertheless,"  the  judge  replied. 

Turning  to  another  lawyer,  who  was  standing  near, 
Peterkin  asked  : 

"  Is  that  so,  square  ?     Is  it  so  writ  ?     Is  that  the  law?" 

"  That  is  the  law,"  was  the  response. 

"Wall,  I'll  be  condumbed,  if  that  don't  beat  all  !"  Pet- 
erkin exclaimed.  "Can't  be  sent  to  prison!  I  swow ! 
There  ain't  no  law  nor  justice  for  nobody  but  me,  and  I 
must  be  kicked  to  the  wall !  I'll  give  up  and  won't  try  to 
be  nobody.  I  vum  !"  And  as  he  talked  he  walked  away 
to  ruminate  upon  the  injustice  of  the  law  which  could  not 
touch  Harold  Hastings,  but  could  throw  its  broad  arms 
tightly  around  himself. 

Meanwhile  the  judge  had  ordered  a  carriage  and  taken 
Harold  with  him  to  his  private  room  in  the  hotel,  where 
the  hardest  part  for  Hal  was  yet  to  come. 

"  Now,  my  boy,"  the  judge  said,  after  he  had  made 
Harold  lie  down  upon  the  couch  and  had  locked  the  door, 
"  now  tell  me  all  about  it.  How  came  you  by  the 
diamonds  ?" 

It  was  such  a  pitiful,  pleading,  agonized  face  which 
lifted  itself  from  the  cushion  and  looked  at  Judge  St.  Clair, 
as  Harold  began  : 

"I  cannot  tell  you  now — I  must  not ;  but  by  and  by 
perhaps  I  can.  They  were  handed  to  me  to  keep  by  some 
one,  just  for  a  little  while.  I  cannot  tell  you  who  it  was. 
I  think  I  would  dio  sooner  than  do  it.  Certainly  I  would 
rather  goto  prison,  as  Peterkin  wishes  me  to." 

There  was  a  thoughtful,  perplexed  look  in  the  judge's 
face  as  he  said  : 

"  This  is  very  strange,  Harold,  that  you  cannot  tell 
who  gave  them  to  you,  and  with  some  people  will  be  con- 
strued against  you." 

"I  know  it ;  but  I  would  rather  bear  it  than  have  that 
person's  name  brought  in  question,"  was  Harold's  reply. 

"Do  you  think  that  person  took  them  ?"  the  judge 
asked. 

"Ko,  a  thousand  times,  no  !"  and  Harold  leaped  to  his 


HAROLD    AND    THE    DIAMONDS.  361 

feet  and  began  to  pace  the  floor  hurriedly.  "  They  never 
took  them,  never  ;  I'd  swear  to  that  with  my  life.  Don't 
talk  any  more  about  it,  please ;  I  can't  bear  it.  I  have 
gone  through  so  much  to-day,  and  List  night  I  never  slept 
a  wink.  Oft,  I  am  so  tired  I"  and  with  a  groan  he  threw 
himself  again  upon  the  couch,  and,  closing  his  eyes, 
dropped  almost  instantly  into  a  heavy  slumber,  from  which 
the  judge  did  not  rouse  him  until  after  dinner,  when  he 
ordered  some  refreshments  sent  to  his  room,  and  himself 
awoke  the  young  man,  who  could  only  swallow  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  a  part  of  a  biscuit. 

"lam  so  tired/' he  kept  repeating;  "but  I  shall  be 
better  in  the  morning ;"  and  long  before  the  night  train 
had  come  he  was  in  bed  sleeping  off  the  effects  of  the  day's 
excitement.  9 

The  next  morning  when  he  went  down  to  the  office  he 
was  surprised  and  bewildered  at  the  crowd  which  gathered 
around  him — the  friends  who  had  come  on  the  train  to 
stand  by  and  defend  him,  if  necessary  ;  and  as  the  home 
faces  he  had  known  all  his  life  looked  kindly  into  his,  and 
the  familiar  voices  of  his  boyhood  told  him  of  sympathy  for 
and  faith  in  him,  while  hand  after  hand  took  his  in  a  friendly 
clasp,  that  of  Dick  St.  Claire  clinging  to  his  with  a  grasp 
which  said  plainer  than  words  could  have  done,  "  I  believe 
in  you,  Hal,  and  am  so  sorry  for  you/'  the  tension  of  his 
nerves  gave  way  entirely,  and,  sinking  down  in  their  midst, 
he  cried  like  a  child  when  freed  from  some  terrible  danger. 

He  had  not  thought  before  that  he  cared  for  himself 
what  people  said,  but  he  knew  now  that  he  did,  and  this 
assurance  of  confidence  from  his  friends  unnerved  him 
for  a  time  ;  then,  dashing  away  his  tears  and  lifting  up 
his  face,  on  which  his  old  winning  smile  was  breaking,  he 
said  : 

"  Excuse  me  for  this  weakness  ;  only  girls  should  cry, 
but  I  have  borne  so  much,  and  yonr  coining  was  such  a 
surprise.  Thank  you  all.  I  cannot  say  what  I  feel.  I 
should  cry  again  if  I  did." 

"  Never  mind,  old  boy,"  Dick's  cheery  voice  called  out. 
"We  know  what  you  would  say.  We  came  to  help  you, 
just  a  few  of  us ;  but  if  anything  had  really  happened  to 
you,  why,  all  Shaunoudale  would  have  turned  out  to  the 
rescue." 

16 


362  HAROLD    AND    THE    DIAMONDS. 

"  Thank  you,  Dick,"  Harold  said,  then,  as  his  eye  fell 
for  the  first  time  upon  Tom,  he  exclaimed  with  a  glad  ring 
in  his  voice,  "  and  you,  too,  Tom  \" 

"  Yes,  I  thought  I'd  come  with  the  crowd  and  see  the 
fun,"  Tom  answered,  indifferently,  as  he  walked  away  by 
himself. 

Tom  had  said  very  little  on  the  train,  or  after  he  reached 
the  hotel,  but  no  one  had  listened  with  more  eagerness  to 
every  detail  of  the  matter  than  he  had  done,  and  all  that 
morning  he  was  busy  gathering  up  every  item  of  informa- 
tion, and  listening  to  the  guesses  as  to  who  the  person 
could  be  who  gave  the  diamonds  to  Harold. 

The  jewels  had  been  identified  by  his  father  and  by  him- 
self, although  an  identification  was  scarcely  necessary  as 
Harold  had  distinctly  said  : 

"  They  are  the  Tracy  diamonds ;  the  person  who  gave 
them  to  me  said  so." 

But  who  was  the  person  ?  That  was  the  question  puz- 
zling the  heads  of  all  the  Shannondale  people  as  the  mom- 
ing  wore  on,  and  each  went  where  he  liked.  At  last,  to- 
ward noon,  Tom  found  himself  near  Harold  in  front  of  the 
court-house,  and  going  up  to  him,  said : 

"  Hal,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  little  while." 

"Yes,"  Hal  said,  and  selecting  a  retired  corner,  Tom 
began  : 

"  Hal,  I've  never  shown  any  great  liking  for  you,  and  I 
don't  s'pose  I  have  any,  but  I  don't  like  to  see  a  man 
kicked  for  nothing,  and  so  I  came  over  with  the  rest." 

"Thank  you,  Tom,"  Harold  replied,  "I  don't  think 
you  ever  did  like  me,  and  I  don't  think  I  cared  if  you 
didn't,  but  I'm  glad  you  came.  Is  that  all  you  wished  to 
say  to  me  ?" 

"No,"  Tom  answered.     "  Jerrie  is  very  sick — " 

"  Jerrie  !  Jerrie  sick  !     Oh,  Tom  !" 

It  was  a  cry  of  almost  despair  as  Harold  thought, 
"What  if  she  should  die  and  the  people  never  know." 

"  She  had  an  awful  headache  when  you  left  her  in  the 
lane,  and  the  next  morning  she  was  raving  mad — kind  of  a 
brain  fever,  I  guess." 

Harold  was  stupefied,  but  he  managed  to  ask  : 

"  Does  she  talk  much  ?     What  does  she  say  ?" 


HAROLD    AND    THE    DIAMONDS.  363 

There  was  alarm  in  his  voice,  which  the  sagacious  Tom 
detected,  and,  strengthened  in  his  suspicion,  he  replied  : 

"  Nothing  about  the  diamonds,  and  the  Lord  knows  I 
hope  she  won't." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Harold  asked,  in  a  frightened 
tone. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  Tom  replied.  "I  wouldn't  harm 
Jerrie  any  more  than  you  would,  but, —  "Well,  Hall,  you  are 
a  trump  !  Yes,  you  are,  to  hold  your  tongue  and  let  some 
think  you  are  the  culprit.  Hal,  Jerrie  gave  you  the  dia- 
monds. I  saw  her  do  it  in  the  lane  as  I  came  up  to  you. 
I  did  not  think  of  it  at  the  time,  but  afterward  it  came  to 
me  that  you  took  something  from  her  and  slipped  it  into 
your  pocket,  and  that  you  both  looked  scared  when  you  saw 
me.  Jerrie  was  abstracted  and  queer  all  the  way  to  the 
house,  and  had  a  bruise  on  her  head,  and  she  keeps  talking 
of  the  Tramp  House  and  Peterkin,  who,  she  says,  dealt  the 
blow.  I  went  to  the  Tramp  House,  and  found  the  old 
table  on  the  floor,  with  three  of  the  legs  on  it ;  the  fourth  I 
couldn't  find.  I  thought  at  first  that  the  old  wretch  had 
quarreled  with  her  about  you  on  account  of  the  suit,  and 
she  had  squared  up  to  him,  and  he  had  struck  her;  but 
now  I  believe  he  had  the  diamonds,  and  she  got  them  from 
him  in  some  way,  and  he  struck  her  with  the  missing 
table  leg.  If  you  say  so,  I'll  have  him  arrested." 

Tom  had  told  his  story  rapidly,  while*  Harold  listened, 
until  he  suggested  the  arrest  of  Peterkin,  when  he 
exclaimed  : 

"  No,  r.o,  Tom.  No ;  don't  you  see  that  would  mix 
Jerrie's  name  up  with  the  diamonds,  and  that  must  not  be. 
She  must  not  be  mentioned  in  connection  with  them  until 
she  speaks  for  herself  ;  and,  besides,  I  do  not  believe  it  was 
Peterkin  who  took  them.  It  might  have  been  your  uncle 
Arthur." 

"  Uncle  Arthur  ?"  Tom  said,  indignantly.  "Why,  he 
gave  them  to  mother." 

"I  know  he  did,"  Harold  continued  ;  "but  in  a  crazy 
fit  he  might  have  taken  them  away  and  secreted  them  and 
then  forgotten  it,  and  Jerrie  might  have  known  it,  and  not 
been  able  to  find  them  till  now.  Many  things  go  to  prove 
that;"  and  very  briefly  Harold  repeated  some  incidents  con- 
nected with  Jerrie's  illness  when  she  was  a  child. 


864  HAROLD    ANfr    THE   DIAMONDS. 

"That  looks  like  it,  certainly/'  Tom  said  ;  but  I  am 
awfully  loth  to  give  up  arresting  the  brute,  and  believe  I 
shall  do  it  yet  for  assault  and  battery.  He  certainly 
struck  her.  You  will  see  for  yourself  the  lump  on  her  head." 

So  saying  Tom  arose  to  go  away,  but  before  he  went  he 
made  a  remark  quite  characteristic  of  him  and  his  feeling 
for  Harold,  to  whom  he  said,  with  a  laugh  : 

"Don't,  for  thunder's  sake,  think  us  a  kind  of  Damon 
and  Pythias  twins,  because  Fve  joined  hands  with  you 
against  Peterkin  and  for  Jerrie.  Herod  and  Pilate,  you  know, 
became  friends,  but  I  guess  at  heart  they  were  Pilate  and 
Herod  still. 

"  No  danger  of  my  presuming  at  all  upon  your  friendship 
for  myself,  though  I  thank  you  for  your  interest  in  Jerrie," 
Harold  replied. 

Then  the  two  separated,  Tom  going  his  way  and  Harold 
his,  until  it  was  time  for  the  afternoon  train  which  wtis  to 
take  them  home." 

The  suit  had  gone  against  Peterkin,  and  it  was  in  a 
towering  rage  that  he  stood  in  the  depot,  denouncing  every- 
body, and  swearing  he  would  sell  out  Lubertoo  and  every 
dumbed  thing  he  owned  in  Shannondale  and  take  his 
money  away,  "  and  then  see  how  they'd  git  along  without 
his  capital  to  boost  'em."  At  Harold  he  would  not  even 
look,  for  his  testimony  had  been  the  most  damaging  of  all, 
and  he  frowned  savagely  when  on  entering  the  car  he  saw 
his  son  in  the  same  seat  with  him,  talking  in  low,  earnest 
tones,  while  Harold  was  evidently  listening  to  him  with 
interest.  The  suit  had  been  a  pain  and  trouble  to  Billy, 
from  beginning  to  end,  for  he  knew  his  father  was  in  the 
wrong,  and  he  bore  no  malice  toward  Harold  for  his  part 
in  it,  and  when  the  diamonds  came  up,  and  his  father  was 
clamoring  for  a  writ,  he  was  the  first  to  declare  Harold's 
innocence  and  to  say  he  would  go  his  bail.  Now,  there  was 
in  his  mind  another  plan  by  which  to  benefit  his  friend, 
and  rival,  too — for  Billy  knew  he  was  that ;  and  the  heart 
of  the  little  man  ached  with  a  bitter  pain  and  sense  of  loss 
whenever  he  thought  of  Jerrie,  and  lived  over  again  the 
scene  under  the  butternut  tree  by  the  river,  when  her  blue 
eyes  had  smiled  so  kindly  upon  him  and  her  hands  had 
touched  his,  even  while  she  was  breaking  his  heart.  When 
Billy  reached  his  majority  his  father  had  given  him. 


HAROLD    AXD    THE    DIAMONDS.  365 

$100,000,,  and  thus  be  had  business  of  his  own  to  transact, 
and  a  part  -of  this  was  just  now  centered  in  Washington 
Territory,  where,  in  Tacoma,  on  Puget  Sound,  he  owned 
real  estate  and  had  dealings  with  several  parties.  To  attend 
to  this  an  agent  was  needed  for  a  while,  and  he  said  to 
himself  : 

"I'll  offer  it  to  Hal,  with  such  a  salary  that  he  cannot 
refuse  it ;  that  will  get  him  out  of  the  way  until  this  thing 
blows  over." 

Billy  knew  perfectly  well  that  although  everybody  said 
Harold  was  innocent  and  that  nine-tenths  believed  it,  there 
would  still  be  a  few  in  Shannondale — whose  opinions  his 
father's  money  controlled — who,  without  exactly  saying 
they  doubted  him,  would  make  it  unpleasant  for  him  in 
many  ways;  and  from  this  he  would  save  him  by  sending 
him  to  Tacoma  at  once,  and  thus  getting  him  out  of  the  way 
of  any  unpleasantness  which  might  arise  from  his  father's 
persecutions  or  those  of  his  clan.  It  was  this  which  he  was 
proposing  to  Harold,  who  at  once  thought  favorably  of  it — 
not  because  he  wished  to  escape  from  the  public,  he  said, 
but  because  of  the  pay  offered,  and  which  seemed  to  him 
far  more  than  his  services  would  be  worth. 

"  You  are  a  noble  fellow,  Billy,"  he  said.  "  Pll  think 
of  the  plan,  and  let  you  know  after  I've  seen  Jerrie  and 
Judge  St.  Claire." 

"  A-all  ri-right ;  he'll  a-advise  you  to  go/'  Billy  said,  as 
they  arose  to  leave  the  car,  followed  by  Peterkin,  who  had 
been  engaged  in  a  fierce  altercation  with  Tom,  that  young 
man  having  accused  him  of  striking  Jerrie,  and  threaten- 
ing to  have  him  arrested  for  assault  and  battery  the 
moment  they  reached  Shannondale. 

"  Thunder,  and  lightning,  and  guns  I"  old  Peterkin  ex- 
claimed, while  the  spittle  flew  from  his  mouth  like  the 
spray  from  Niagara.  "I  assault  and  batter  Jerrie  Craw- 
ford ! — a  gal !  AY  hat  do  you  take  me  for,  young  man  ?  I'm 
a  gentleman,  I  be,  if  I  ain't  a  Tracy;  and  I  never  salted 
nor  battered  nobody,  and  she'll  tell  you  so  herself. 
Heavens  and  earth  !  this  is  the  way  'twas,"  and  Peterkin 
shook  from  his  head  to  his  feet — for,  like  most  men  who 
clamor  so  loudly  for  the  law,  he  had  a  mortal  terror  of 
it  for  himself,  and  Tom's  threaten  ing  looks  and  words  made 
him  afraid,  "  This  15  how  'twas  ;  I  found  her  in  the  Tramp 


866  HAROLD    AND    JERR1E. 

House,  and  I  was  allfired  mad  at  her  about  somelhin' — I 
shan't  tell  what,  for  Bill  would  kill  me;  but  I  pitched  in 
to  her  right  and  left;  and,  by  gum,  she  pitched  into  me, 
so  that  for  a  spell  it  was  nip-and-tuck  betwixt  us  ;  and,  by 
George,  if  she  did'nt  order  me  out  of  the  Tramp  House,  and 
said  it  was  her'n  ;  and  I'll  be  dumbed  if  I  don't  believe  she'd 
of  put  me  out,  too,  body  and  bones,  if  I  hadn't  gone.  She 
was  just  like  a  tiger  ;  and,  I  swan,  I  was  feared  on  her,  and 
backed  out  with  a  kind  of  flourish  of  my  fist  on  that  darned 
old  rotten  table,  which  went  all  to  smash ;  and  that's  all  I 
know.  You  don't  call  that  'sault  and  batter,  do  you  ?" 
Tom  could  not  say 'that  he  did,  but  he  replied  : 
"That's  your  version  of  it.  Jerrie  may  have  another, 
and  her  friends  ain't  going  to  have  her  abused  by  a  chap 
like  you ;  and  my  advice  is  that  you  hold  your  tongue,  both, 
about  her  and  Harold.  It  will  be  better  for  you.  Do  you 
understand  ?" 

"You  bet!"  Peterkin  said,  with  a  meaning  nod,  breath- 
ing a  little  more  freely  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  highest 
tower  of  Lulbertoo,  and  more  freely  still  when  he  arrived 
at  the  station,  where  he  was  met  by  his  coat-of-arms  car- 
riage, instead  of  a  writ,  and  was  suffered  to  go  peaceably 
home,  a  disappointed,  if  not  a  better  man. 


CHAPTEE  XLIII. 

,  HAROLD      AND      JERRIE. 

news  which  so  electrified  all  Shannondale  was  slow 
in,  reaching  Mrs.  Crawford,  but  it  did  reach  her  at 
last,  crushing  and  overwhelming  her  with  a  sense  of  shame 
and  anguish,  until  as  the  day  wore  on,  Grace  Atherton,  and 
Mrs.  St.  Claire,  and  Nina,  and  many  others,  came  to  re- 
assure her,  and  to  say  that  it  was  all  a  mistake,  which  would 
soon  be  cleared  up. 

^Thus  comforted  and  consoled,  she  tried  to  be  calm,  and 
wait  patiently  for  the  train.  But  there  was  a  great  pity  for 
her  boy  in  her  heart,  as  she  sat  by  Jerrie's  bedside  and 
watched  her  in  all  her  varying  moods,  now  perfectly  quiet, 
while  her  wide-open  eyes  stared  up  at  the  ceiling  as  if  she 


HAEOLD    AND    JERR1E.  887 

were  seeing  something  there,  now  talking  of  Peterkin,  and 
the  Trump  House,  and  the  table,  aud  the  blow,  and  again 
of  the  bag,  which  she  said  was  lost,  and  which  her  grand- 
mother must  find. 

Thinking  she  meant  the  carpet-bag,  Mrs.  Crawford 
brought  that  to  her ;  but  she  tossed  it  aside  impatiently, 
saying: 

"No,  no  ;  the  other  one,  which  tells  it  all.  "Where  is  it ! 
I  must  have  lost  it.  Find  it,  find  it.  To  be  so  near,  and 
yet,  so  far.  What  did  it  say  ?  Why  can't  I  think  ?  Am  I 
like  Mr.  Arthur — crazy,  like  him?" 

Mrs.  Crawford  thought  her  crazier  than  Arthur,  and 
waited  still  more  impatiently  for  Harold,  until  she  heard 
his  step  outside,  and  knew  that  he  had  come. 

"  Harold  I" 

"  Grandma  I"  was  all  they  said  for  a  moment,  while  the 
poor  old  lady  was  sobbing  on  his  neck,  and  then  he  com- 
forted her  as  best  he  could,  telling  her  that  it  was  all  over 
now — that  no  one  but  Peterkin  had  accused  him — that  every 
body  was  ready  to  defend  him,  and  that  after  a  little  he 
could  explain  everything. 

"  And  now  I  must  see  Jerrie,"  he  continued,  starting 
for  the  stairs,  and  glad  that  his  grandmother  did  not  at- 
tempt to  fullow  him. 

Jerrie  had  heard  his  voice,  and  had  raised  herself  in  bed, 
and  as  he  came  in,  met  him  with  the  question : 

"Have  you  brought  them  ?    Has  any  one  seen  them  ?" 

The  stran'ge  light  in  her  eyes  should  have  told  Harold 
how  utterly  incapable  she  was  of  giving  any  rational  answers 
to  his  questions,  but  he  did  not  think  of  that,  and  instead 
of  trying  to  quiet  her,  he  plunged  at  once  into  the  subject 
she  had  broached  : 

"  Do  you  mean  the  diamonds  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes/'  she  replied,  "the  diamonds!  the  diamonds! 
Where  are  they  I" 

"Mrs.  Tracy  has  them  by  this  time,"  Harold  replied. 

"  Mrs.  Tracy  !"  Jerrie  exclaimed.  "  What  has  she  to  do 
with  them.  They  are  not  hers.  They  are  mine — they  are 
mine  !  Bring  them  to  me — bring  them  to  me." 

She  was  terribly  excited,  and  for  a  time  Harold  bent  all 
his  energies  to  soothe  her,  and  at  last  when  from  sheer 
exhaustion  she  became  quiet  he  said  to  her. 


868  HAEOLD    AND    JERRIE. 

"  Jerrie,  where  did  you  find  the  diamonds  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  but  made  no  reply,  and  he 
went  on. 

"  You  must  tell  me  where  you  found  them  ;  it  is  neces- 
sary I  should  know." 

Still  she  did  not  reply,  and  he  continued  : 

"  Those  diamonds  have  caused  me  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  and  will  cause  me  more  unless  you  tell  me  where 
you  found  them.  Try  and  think.  Was  it  in  the  Tramp 
House  ?" 

That  started  her  at  once,  and  she  began  to  rave  of  the 
Tramp  House,  and  the  rat-hole,  and  the  table,  and  Peter- 
kin,  who  dealt  the  blow.  The  bruise  on  her  head  had  not 
proved  so  serious  ;is  was  at  first  feared,  and  with  her  tangled 
hair  falling  over  her  face  Harold  had  not  noticed  it.  But 
he  looked  at  it  now  and  questioned  her  about  it,  asking  if 
Peterkin  struck  her  there. 

"  No,"  she  said,  and  began  again  to  babble  of  rat-holes, 
and  table-legs,  and  bags,  and  diamonds,  until  Harold  was 
convinced  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  learned  from  her  in 
her  present  condition,  and  started  for  the  Tramp  House  to 
see  what  that  would  tell  him.  The  table  was  still  upon  the 
floor,  with  the  three  legs  upon  it,  while  the  fourth  one  was 
missing.  But  Harold  found  it  at"  last,  for,  remembering 
what  Jerrie  had  said  of  the  rat-hole,  he  investigated  that 
spot  and  from  its  enlarged  appearance  drew  his  own  con- 
clusion. Jerrie  had  found  the  diamonds  there ;  he  had  no 
doubt  of  it,  and  he  said  so  to  Tom  Tracy  who  appeared  in 
the  door-way  just  as  he  was  leaving  it.  Sitting  down  upon 
the  bench  inside  the  two  young  men,  who  had  been  enemies 
all  their  lives,  but  who  were  now  drawn  together  by  a  com- 
mon sympathy  and  love  for  Jerrie  talked  the  matter  over 
again,  each  arriving  at  the  same  theory  as  the  most  probable 
one  they  could  accept. 

Arthur,  in  a  crazy  fit,  had  secreted  the  diamonds,  and 
Jerrie  knew  it,  though  possibly  not  where  he  had  put  them. 
This  accounted  for  her  strange  sickness  when  a  child,  while 
her  finding  them  later  on,  added  to  other  causes,  would 
account  for  her  sickness  now.  "  Peterkin  owns  that  he  was 
blowing  her  up  for  something,  and  that  he  knocked  the 
table  down  with  his  fist,  but  he  swears  he  didn't  touch  her," 


HAROLD    AND    JERT11E.  369 

Tom  said,  repeating  in  substance  all  Peterkin  hud  said  to 
him  in  the  train  when  shaking  with  fear  of  a  writ. 

"  And  do  you  still  mean  to  keep  silent  with  regard  to 
Jerrie  1"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Harold  replied.  "  Her  name  must  not  be  men- 
tioned in  connection  with  the  diamonds.  I  can't  have  the 
slightest  breath  of  suspicion  touching  Jerrie,  my  sister." 

"  Sister  be  hanged  !"  Tom  began,  savagely,  then  checked 
himself,  and  added,  with  a  laugh  :  "  Don't  try  to  deceive 
me,  Hal,  with  your  sister  business.  You  love  Jerrie,  and 
she  loves  you,  and  that  is  one  reason  why  I  hate  you,  or 
shall,  when  this  miserable  business  is  cleared  up.  Just 
now  we  must  pull  together  and  find  cut  where  she  found 
the  diamonds,  and  who  put  them  there.  To  write  to  Uncle 
Arthur  would  do  no  good,  though  seeing  him  might ;  the 
last  we  heard  lie  was  thinking  of  taking  the  coast  voyage 
from  San  Francisco  to  Tacoma." 

"Tom,"  Harold  exclaimed,  with  great  energy,  as  he 
sprang  to  his  feet,  "  that  decides  me ;"  and  then  he  told 
of  the  offer  Billy  had  made  him  on  the  car.  "  When  I  saw 
how  sick  Jerrie  was,  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  accept  it, 
although  I  need  the  money  badly.  But  now,  if  she  gets  no 
worse,  I  shall  start  for  Tacoma  in  a  few  days  and  shall  find 
your  Uncle  ArtlmV,  if  he  is  to  be  found." 

It  was  growing  dark  when  the  two  young  men  finally 
emerged  from  the  house  and  stood  for  a  moment  outside, 
while  Harold  inquired  for  Maude. 

"  She  is  not  very  well,  that's  a  fact,"  Tom  said,  gloom-. 
ily  ;  "  and  no  wonder  when  mother  keeps  her  cooped  up  in 
one  room,  without  enough  fresh  air,  and  let's  nobody  see 
her  except  the  family  and  the  doctor,  for  fear  they  will 
excite  her.  She  knows  nothing  about  the  diamonds,  or 
that  Jerrie  is  sick.  I  did  tell  her,  though,  that  you  had 
come  home  ;  and,  by  Jove  !  I  pretty  near  forgot  it.  She 
wants  to  see  you  bad  ;  but,  Lord  !  mother  won't  let  you  in. 
No  use  to  try.  She's  like  a  she  wolf  guarding  its  cub. 
Good-night."' 

And  Tom  walked  away,  while  Harold  went  back  to  the 

cottage,  where  he  found  Jerrie  sleeping  very  quietly,  Avitli 

a  look  on  her  face  so  like  that  it  had  worn  in  her  babyhood, 

when  he  called  her  his  little  girl,   that  he  involuntarily 

16* 


370  HAROLD    AND    JERRIE. 

stooped  down  and  kissed  it  as  one  would  kiss  a  beautiful 
baby. 

The  next  morning  Jerrie  was  very  restless  and  wild,  and 
Harold  began  to  doubt  as  to  whether  he  ought  to  take  the 
Western  trip  or  not. 

If  he  went  he  must  go  at  once,  and  to  leave  Jerrie  in 
her  present  state  seemed  impossible.  He  would  consult  the 
physician  first,  and  Judge  St.  Claire  next.  The  doctor 
gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  Jerrie  was  in  no  danger,  if  she 
were  only  kept  quiet.  She  had  taken  a  severe  cold  and 
overtaxed  her  strength,  but  he  had  no  fear  for  the  result, 
and  he  thought  Harold  might  venture  to  leave  her. 

"  Yes,  I'd  go  if  I  were  you,"  he  added,  for,  like  Billy, 
he  too  thought  it  might  be  pleasanter  for  Harold  to  be  out 
of  the  way  for  a  time,  although  he  did  not  say  so. 

And  this  was  the  view  the  Judge  took  of  it,  after 
a  few  moments'  conversation.  His  first  question  had 
been : 

"  Well,  my  boy,  can  you  tell  me  now  who  gave  them  to 
you?" 

"No,  I  can't,"  was  Harold's  reply,  and  then,  acting 
upon  a  sudden  impulse,  he  burst  out  impetuously  :  "  Yes, 
I  will,  for  I  can  trust  you,  and  I  want  your  advice  so 
badly." 

So  he  repeated  rapidly  all  he  knew,  and  his  theory 
with  regard  to  Arthur,  whom  he  wished  to  find,  and  of 
Billy's  proposition  that  he  should  go  on  his  business  to 
.Tacoma. 

For  a  few  moments  the  Judge  seemed  perplexed  and 
undecided.  If  Harold  stayed  he  might  have  some  un- 
pleasant things  to  bear  and  hear,  for  there  were  those  who 
would  talk,  in  spite  of  their  protestations  of  his  innocence  ; 
while  to  go  might  look  like  running  away  from  the  storm, 
with  the  matter  unexplained.  On  the  whole,  however,  he 
thought  it  was  better  to  go. 

"  Jerrie's  interests  are  safe  with  me,"  he  said,  ' '  and  by 
the  time  you  return  everything  will  be  explained  ;  but  find 
Mr.  Tracy  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  inclined  to  think  your 
theory  with  regard  to  him  correct." 

So  it  was  decided  that  Harold  should  go,  and  the  next 
night  was  appointed  for  him  to  start.  Had  he  known  that 
Peterkin,  and  even  Mrs.  Tracy,  were  each  in  her  and  his 


JIAKOLD    AND    JERR1E.  371 

own  way  insinuating  that  be  was  running  from  public 
opinion,  nothing  could  have  induced  him  to  leave.  But  he 
did  nor  know  it,  and  went  about  his  preparations  with  as 
brave  a  heart  as  lie  could  command  under  the  circum- 
stances. Jerrie  was  more  quiet  now,  though  every  effort 
on  his  part  to  learn  anything  from  her  concerning  the  dia- 
monds brought  on  a  tit  of  raving,  when  she  would  insist 
that  the  jewels  were  hers,  and  must  be  brought  to  her. 

"But  you  told  me  they  were  Mrs.  Tracy's,"  he  said  to 
her  once. 

And  she  replied  : 

"  So  they  are,  or  were  ;  but  oh,  how  little  you  know  !" 

And  this  was  all  he  could  get  from  her. 

He  told  her  he  was  going  away,  but  that  did  not  affect  her, 
and  she  began  to  talk  of  Maude,  who,  she  said,  must  not 
be  harmed. 

"  Have  you  seen  her  ?"  she  asked  him. 

"Not  yet,"  he  replied,  "but  I  am  going  to  say  good- 
by  •"  and  on  the  day  of  his  departure  he  went  to  the  Park 
House  and  asked  if  he  could  see  Maude. 

"Of  course  not,"  was  Mrs.  Tracy's  prompt  reply,  when 
the  request  was  taken  to  her.  "  No  one  sees  her,  and  I 
certainly  shall  not  allow  him  to  enter  her  room." 

"But,  Dolly,"  Frank  began,  protestingly,  but  was  cut 
short  by  the  lady,  who  said  : 

"You  needn't  '  Dolly  '  me,  or  try  to  take  his  part, 
either.  I  have  my  opinion,  and  always  shall.  He  cannot 
see  Maude,  and  you  may  tell  him  so,"  turning  now  to  the 
servant  who  had  brought  Harold's  message,  and  who  soft- 
ened it  as  much  as  possible. 

Harold  had  half  expected  a  refusal,  and  was  prepared 
for  it-  Taking  a  card  from  his  pocket,  he  wrote  upon  it  : 

"DEAR  MAUDE:  —  I  am  going  away  for  a  few  weeks, 
and  am  very  sorry  that  I  cannot  see  you  ;  but  your  mother 
knows  best,  of  course,  and  I  must  not  do  anything  to  make 
you  worse.  I  shall  think  of  you  very  often,  and  hope  to 
find  you  much  better  when  I  return.  "  HAROLD." 


you  give  this  to  her  ?"  he  said  to  the  girl,  who 
answered  that  she  would,  and  who  took  it  to  her  young 
mistress  late  in  the  afternoon,  while  the  family  were  at 
dinner,  and  ske  was  left  in  charge  of  the  invalid. 


372  JERR1E    CLEARS    HAROLD. 

"Mr.  Hastings  sent  you  this,"  she  said,  banding  the 
card  to  Maude,  into  whose  face  the  bright  color  rushed,  but 
left  it  instantly  as  she  read  the  few  hurried  lines. 

"Going  away  !  Gone  !  and  I  didn't  see  him  I"  she  ex- 
claimed, regardless  of  consequences.  "And  mother  did  it. 
I  know  she  did.  I  -will  talk/'  she  continued,  as  the  fright- 
ened girl  tried  to  stop  her,  and  then  ran  for  Mrs.  Tracy, 
who  came  in  much  alarm,  asking  what  was  the  matter. 

"  You  sent  Harold  away.  You  didn't  let  him  see  me, 
and  he  is — "  Maude  gasped,  but  could  get  no  farther,  for 
the  paroxysm  of  coughing  which  came  on,  together  with  a 
hemorrhage  which  made  her  so  weak  that  they  thought  her 
dying  all  night,  she  lay  so  while  and  still,  and  insensible, 
save  at  times  when  her  lips  moved,  and  her  mother  heard 
her  whisper  : 

"Send  for  Harold.'' 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

JERRIE    CLEARS     HAROLD. 

THE  next  day  two  items  of  news  went  like  wildfire  through 
the  little  town  of  Shannondale — the  first,  set  afloat  by 
Pcterkin  and  helped  on  by  Mrs.  Tracy,  that  Harold  had 
run  awav  from  public  opinion,  which  was  fast  turning 
against  him,  since  he  could  not  explain  where  he  found  the 
diamonds;  and  the  second,  that  both  Maude  Tracy  and 
Jerrie  Crawford  were  much  worse,  which  made  Harold's 
sudden  departure  all  the  more  heinous  in  the  eyes  of  his 
enemies  ;  for  what  but  conscious  guilt  could  have  prompted 
him  to  leave  his  sister,  who,  it  was  said,  was  calling  for  him 
with  every  breath,  and  charging  him  with  having  taken  the 
diamonds  ?  This  was  false  ;  for  although  Jerrie's  fever  had 
increased  rapidly  during  the  night,  and  her  babbling  was 
something  terrible  to  hear,  there  was  in  it  no  accusation  of 
Harold,  although  she  was  constantly  talking  to  him,  and 
asking  for  the  diamonds  and  the  bag. 


JERR1E    CLEARS    HAROLD.  373 

"It  is  a  pity  he  ever  told  her  about  them,"  the  doctor 
said,  as  twice  each  day,  for  four  successive  days,  he  came 
and  looked  upon  her  fever-stained  cheeks,  and  counted  her 
rapid  pulse,  and  took  her  temperature,  and  listened  to  her 
strange  talk  ;  and  then,  with  a  shake  of  his  head,  drove  over 
to  Tracy  Park  and  stoo.l  by  poor  little  Maude's  couch,  and 
looked  into  her  death-white  face,  and  counted  her  faint 
heart  beats,  and  tried  in  vain  to  find  some  word  of  encour- 
agement for  the  stricken  man,  who  looked  about  as  much 
like  death  as  the  young  girl  so  clear  to  him.  And  every 
morning,  on  his  way  from  the  cottage  to  Tracy  Park,  the 
doctor  saw  under  the  pines  two  young  men,  Tom  and  Dick, 
seated  upon  the  iron  bench  each  whittling  a  bit  of  pine, 
which  one  was  unconsciously  fashioning  into  a  cross  and 
the  other  into  a  grave-si  one. 

Tom  had  found  Dick  there  working  at  his  cross,  and, 
after  a  simple  good-morning,  had  sat  down  beside  him  and 
whittled  in  silence  upon  another  bit  of  wood  until  the  doc- 
tor appeared  on  his  way  to  Tracy  Park.  Then  the  whittling 
ceased,  and  both  young  men  arose,  and,  going  forward, 
asked  how  Jerrie  was. 

"Pretty  bad.  Hal  oughtn't  to  have  gone,  though  I  told 
him  there  was  no  danger.  We  must  telegraph  if  she  gets 
worse,"  was  the  reply,  as  the  doctor  rode  on. 

Then  Tom  and  Dick  separated  and  saw  no  more  of  each 
other  until  the  next  morning,  when  they  went  again,  and 
whittled  in  silence  under  the  pines  until  the  doctor  came 
in  sight,  when  the  same  question  was  asked  and  answered 
as  on  the  previous  day. 

Billy  never  joined  them,  but  sat  for  hours  and  hours 
under  the  butternut  tree  where  Jerrie  had  refused  him, 
watching  the  sluggish  river,  and  wondering  what  the  world 
would  be  to  him  if  Jerrie  were  not  in  it.  Had  Billy  been 
with  Tom  and  Dick,  he  could  not  have  whittled  as  they 
did,  for  all  the  nerve  power  had  left  his  hands,  which  lay 
helplessly  in  his  lap,  and  when  he  walked  he  looked  more 
like  a  withered  old  man  than  a  young  one  of  twenty-seven. 

Maude  was  the  first  to  rally — her  first  question  for  Har- 
old, her  second  for  Jerrie — £.nrl  her  father,  who  was  with 
her,  answered  truthfully  that  Harold  had  not  returned, 
and  that  Jerrie  was  sick  and  could  not  come  to  her.  He 
did  not  say  how  sick,  and  Maude  felt  no  alarm,  and  waited 


374  JERR1E    CLEARS    HAROLD. 

patiently  as  the  days  went  by  and  Jerrie  did  not  appear, 
but  grew  worse  so  fast  that  the  whole  town  \vas  moved  with 
sympathy  for  and  interest  in  her.  Jerrie  was  a  general 
favorite  and  flowers  and  fruit  and  delicacies  of  every  kind 
were  sent  to  the  cottage.  Carriage  after  carriage  stopped 
before  the  door,  offer  after  offer  of  assistance  was  made  to 
Mrs.  Crawford,  while  Nina  and  Marian  Raymond  were 
there  constantly  ;  and  Billy  went  to  Springfield  for  a  chair 
in  which  to  wheel  his  sister  to  the  cottage,  for  she  could 
not  yet  mount  into  the  dog-cart;  and  Tom  and  Dick 
whittled  on  until  the  cross  and  the  grave-stone  were  fin- 
ished, and,  with  a  sickly  smile,  Tom  said  to  Dick  : 

"Would  you  cut  Jerrie's  name  upon  it  ?" 

"  No  ;  on,  no  I"  Dick  answered  with  a  gasp.  "  She 
may  be  better  to-morrow."  And  when  the  crisis  was  past, 
and  Jerrie's  strong  constitution  triumphed  over  the  dis- 
ease which  had  grappled  with  it,  the  vilhige  wore  a  holi- 
day air,  as  the  people  said  to  each  other,  gladly  :  "Jerrie 
is  better  ;  Jerrie  will  live  I" 

Her  recovery  was  rapid,  and  within  a  week  after  she 
awoke  to  perfect  consciousness,  she  was  able  to  sit  up  a 
part  of  every  day,  and  had  walked  across  the  floor  and  read 
a  letter  from  Harold,  full  of  solicitude  for  herself  and 
enthusiasm  for  his  trip  over  the  wild  mountains  and  across 
the  vast  plains  to  the  lovely  little  city  of  Tacoma,  built 
upon  a  cliff  and  looking  seaward  over  the  sound. 

"Dear  Harold,"  Jerrie  whispered.  "  I  shall  be  so  glad 
when  he  comes  home.  Nothing  can  be  done  till  then ; 
I  am  so  bewildered  when  I  try  to  think." 

In  her  weak  state,  everything  seemed  unreal  to  Jerrie, 
except  the  fact  that  she  had  found  her  mother,  and  many 
times  each  day  she  thanked  her  God  who  had  brought  her 
this  unspeakable  joy,  and  asked  that  she  might  do  right 
when  the  time  came  to  act.  She  knew  the  bag  was  safe, 
for  she  found  it  just  where  she  had  put  it.  But  where  were 
the  diamonds  ?  Had  Harold  taken  them  with  him?  Had 
he  told  any  one  ?  Did  his  grandmother  know  anything 
about  them,  she  wondered,  and  she  tried  in  many  ways  to 
draw  Mrs.  Crawford  out,  but  was  unsuccessful,  for  there 
was  now  too  much  pain  and  bitterness  connected  with  the 
diamonds  for  Mrs.  Crawford  to  speak  to  her  of  them.  But 
the  poisonous  breath  of  gossip  had  been  at  work  ever  since 


JERR1E    CLEARS    HAROLD.  375 

Hnrold  went  away,  quietly  aided  and  abetted  by  Mrs.  Tracy, 
and  openly  pushed  on  by  Peterkin,  until  Tom  Tracy  went 
to  him  one  day  and  threatened  to  have  him  tarred  and 
feathered  and  ridden  on  a  rail,  if  he  ever  breathed  Harold's 
name  again  in  connection  with  the  diamonds. 

"Wall,  I  swow  I"  was  all  Peterkin  said,  as  he  put  an 
enormous  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth,  and  walked  away, 
thinking  to  himself,  "  T'would  take  an  all-fired  while  to 
scrape  them  tar  and  feathers  off  of  me,  I'm  so  big,  and  I 
b'lieve  the  feller  meant  it.  Them  high  bucks,  wouldn't  like 
no  better  fun  than  to  make  a  spectacle  of  me  ;  so  I  guess  I'll 
dry  up  a  spell." 

But  the  trouble  did  not  stop  with  Peterkin's  talk,  for  a 
neighboring  Sunday  paper,  which  fed  its  readers  with  all 
the  choicest  bits  of  gossip,  came  out  with  an  article  headed 
"The  Tracy  Diamonds,"  and  after  narrating  the  story  in 
a  most  garbled  and  sensational  manner,  went  on  to  comment 
upon  the  young  man's  having  run  away,  rather  than  face 
public  opinion,  and  to  comment  also  upon  the  law  which 
could  not  touch  him  because  the  offense  was  committed  so 
long  ago. 

One  after  another,  and  without  either  knowing  that 
the  other  had  done  so,  Tom,  and  Dick,  and  Billy,  waited 
upon  the  editor  of  the  Sunday  News,  threatening  to  sue  him 
for  libel  if  he  did  not  retract  every  word  of  the  offensive 
article  in  his  next  issue,  which  he  did.  But  the  mischief 
was  done,  and  the  paper  found  its  way  at  last  to  Jerrie, 
sent  unwittingly  by  Ann  Eliza,  who  covered  it  over  a 
basket  of  fruit  and  flowers  which  was  carried  one  afternoon 
to  the  cottage. 

Jerrie  had  been  down  stairs  several  times  and  had  walked 
alittle  way  in  the  lane  but  was  in  her  room  when  the  basket 
was  brought  to  her.  Eaising  the  paper,  she  was  about  to 
throw  it  on  the  floor,  when  her  eye  caught  the  words, 
"  The  Tracy  Diamonds,"  and  with  bloodless  lips  and  wildly 
beating  heart  she  read  the  article  through,  understanding 
the  situation  perfectly,  and  resolving  at  once  how  to  act. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  lifted  above  and  out  of  her- 
self, she  felt  so  strong,  and  light,  and  well,  as  she  put  on  her 
bonnet  and  shawl,  and  taking  the  leather  bag  in  her  hand, 
hurried  down  stairs  in  quest  of  Mrs.  Crawford. 

"  Grandma  !"  she  exclaimed,  "why  haven't  you  told  me 


376  JERRIE    CLEARS    UAUOLD. 

about  Harold,  and  tlu  suspicion  resting  on  him,  and  why 
did  you  let  him  go  until  I  was  better,  and  what  are  the 
people  saying  ?  Tell  me  every  thing." 

Jerrie' would  not  be  put  off,  and  Mrs.  Crawford  told  her 
every  thing  she  knew,  and  that  she  herself  had  added  to 
the  mystery  by  the  strange  things  she  had  said  in  her  delir- 
ium about  the  diamonds,  which  she  insisted  were  hers. 

"And  they  arc  mine  I"  Jerrie  said,  while  Mrs.  Crawford 
looked  at  her  in  alarm,  lest  her  madness  had  returned. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  she  gasped,  as  Jerrie  turned 
toward  the  door. 

"To  Tracy  Park,  to  claim  my  own  and  clear  Harold  I" 
was  the  reply.  "  When  I  come  back  I  will  tell  you  all,  but 
now  I  can't  wait." 

"But,  Jerrie,  you  are  not  strong  enough  to  walk  there, 
and  besides,  they  have  company  this  afternoon,  some  kind 
of  a  new-fangled  card  party,  and  you  must  not  go,"  Mrs. 
Crawford  said. 

"  I  have  the  strength  of  twenty  horses,"  Jerrie  replied, 
"and  if  they  have  company,  so  much  the  better,  for  there 
will  be  more  to  hear  my  story.  Good-by." 

She  was  off  like  an  arrow,  and  went  almost  upon  a  run 
through  the  woods  until  the  house  was  reached,  and  then 
she  stopped  a  moment  to  take  breath  and  look  about  her. 
How  fair  and  beautiful  was  every  thing,  and  Jerrie's  heart 
beat  so  hard  that  she  felt  for  a  moment  as  if  she  were  chok- 
ing to  death  as  she  sat  under  a  maple  tree  and  tried  to  think 
it  all  over,  to  make  sure  there  was  no  mistake.  Opening 
the  box  she  took  out  two  papers  and  read  them  again  as  she 
had  the  night  she  was  taken  sick.  One  was  a  certificate  of 
marriage,  the  other  of  a  birth  and  baptism ;  there  was  no 
mistake. 

Holding  the  papers  in  one  hand  and  the  bag  in  the 
other,  she  went  on  to  the  house,  from  which  shouts  of 
laughter  were  issuing,  Xina's  voice,  and  Marian's,  and 
Tom's,  and  Dick's,  and  Mrs.  Tracy's.  She  could  hear  that 
distinctly,  and  she  shuddered  a  little  at  the  sound,  for  it 
brought  back  to  her  mind  all  the  slights  she  had  received 
from  that  woman  who  was  so  cruel  to  Harold,  and  the  pity 
which  had  been  springing  up  in  her  heart  ever  since  she 
looked  at  the  windows  of  Maude's  room  and  thought  of  the 
white-faced  girl  lying  there,  died  out,  and  it. was  more  a 


JERRIE    CLEARS    HAROLD.  377 

Nemesis  than  a  gentle,  forgiving  woman  who  walked  boldly 
into  the  hall  and  stood  in  the  drawing-room  door. 

Mrs.  Tracy  was  having  a  progressive  euchre  party  that 
afternoon.  A  friend  in  Boston  had  written  her  about  it, 
and,  proud  to  be  the  first  to  introduce  it  in  Shannondale, 
she  stood,  flushed  and  triumphant,  with  the  restored  dia- 
monds in  her  ears  and  at  her  throat,  laughing  merrily  at 
Judge  St.  Claire,  who  had  won  the  booby  prize — a  little 
drum,  as  something  he  could  beat — and  who  looked  as  if 
he  did  not  quite  see  the  joke. 

Apart  from  the  rest,  Frank  Tracy  sat  looking  on, 
though  with  no  apparent  interest  in  the  matter.  He  had 
joined  in  the  game  because  his  wife  told  him  he  must,  and 
had  borne  meekly  her  sarcastic  remarks  when  he  trumped 
her  ace  and  ordered  up  on  nothing.  His  thoughts  were 
not  with  the  cards,  but  up  stairs  with  Maude,  who  seemed 
to  be  better,  and  for  whom  there  was  constantly  a  prayer 
in  his  heart. 

"  Spare  her,  and  I  will  make  reparation ;  I  will  tell  the 
truth." 

He  was  trying  to  bribe  the  Lord  to  hear  him,  when 
he  saw  Jerrie  in  the  door — tall,  thin,  and  white  from  her 
recent  sickness,  with  eyes  which  rolled  and  shone,  and 
flashed  as  Arthur's  did  sometimes,  and  which  fell  at  last 
upon  Mrs.  Tracy,  where  they  rested  with  an  intonsity 
which  must  have  drawn  that  lady's  notice  to  her,  if  Frank 
had  not  exclaimed,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet : 

"Jerrie  !     How  did  you  get  here  ?" 

Then  all  turned  and  looked  at  her,  and  crowded  around 
her  with  exclamations  of  surprise  and  wonder. 

For  a  moment  Jerrie  stood  like  one  in  a  catalepsy,  with 
no  power  to  move  or  speak,  but  when  Mrs.  Tracy  came  for- 
ward, and  in  her  iciest  tones  said  to  her:  "Good-after- 
noon, Miss  Crawford.  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  un- 
expected pleasure  ?"  her  faculties  came  back,  her  tongue 
was  loosened,  and  she  replied  in  a  clear  voice,  which  rang 
through  the  room  like  a  bell,  and  was,  indeed,  the  knell 
to  all  the  lady's  greatness  : 

"  I  am  here  to  claim  my  own,  and  to  clear  Harold  from 
the  foul  suspicion  heaped  upon  him.  I  have  seen  the  paper, 
have  heard  the  whole  from  grandma,  and  am  here  to  defend 


378  JERE1E    CLEARS    HAROLD. 

him.  It  was  I  who  gave  him  the  diamonds  !  It  was  for 
me  he  kept  silent,  and  let  you  think  what  you  would." 

"  You  gave  him  the  diamonds  ?"  Mrs.  Tracy  repeated, 
"you  gave  him  the  diamonds!  and  have  come  to  con- 
fess yourself  a — " 

She  never  finished  the  sentence,  for  something  in 
Jerrie's  face  frightened  her,  while  her  husband,  who  had 
come  forward,  laid  his  hand  warningly  upon  her  arm. 

So  absorbed  were  they  all  that  no  one  saw  the  little  girl, 
who  at  the  sound  of  Jerrie's  voice  had,  in  her  eagerness  to 
see  her,  crept  down  the  stairs,  and  now  stood  in  the  door- 
way opposite  to  Jerrie,  her  large,  bright  eyes  looking  in 
wonder  upon  the  scene,  and  her  ears  listening  intently  to 
what  was  as  new  to  her  as  it  had  been  to  Jerrie  an  hour 
ago. 

"Don't  give  me  the  name  you  have  more  than  once 
given  to  Harold,"  Jerrie  said,  as  with  a  gesture  she 
silenced  Mrs.  Tracy.  "The  diamonds  are  mine,  not 
yours.  Can  one  steal  his  own  ?" 

"Yours  !  Your  diamonds  !  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Mrs. 
Tracy  asked. 

"They  were  my  mother's,"  Jerrie  replied,  "  and  she  sent 
them  to  me." 

They  all  thought  her  crazy  except  Frank,  to  whom 
there  had  come  a  horrid  presentiment  of  the  truth,  and 
who  clutched  his  wife's  arm  hard,  as  she  said  in  a  mocking, 
aggravating  tone  : 

"  And  your  mother  was — ?" 

Then  Jerrie  stepped  into  the  room,  and  stood  in  their 
midst  like  a  queen  among  her  subjects,  as  she  ans\vered  : 

"My  mother  was  Marguerite  Heinrich,  of  Wiesbaden, 
better  known  to  you  as  Gretchen  ;  and  my  father  is  Arthur 
Tracy,  and  I  am  their  lawful  child.  It  is  so  written  here," 
and  she  held  up  the  papers  and  the  bag ;  "  I  am  Jerrie 
Tracy !" 


WHAT   FOLLOWED.  879 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

WHAT     FOLLOWED. 

"HPHANK  God  that  it  is  out !  I  couldn't  have  borne  it 
much  longer,"  came  involuntarily  from  Frank's  lips. 

But  no  one  heard  it ;  for  with  one  bound,  as  it  seemed 
to  the  petrifie  1  spectators,  who  divided  right  and  left  to  let 
her  pass,  Jerrie  reached  the  opposite  door-way,  and  stooping 
over  the  little  figure  lying  there  so  still,  lifted  it  tenderly, 
and  carrying  it  up  stairs,  laid  it  down  in  the  room  it  would 
never  leave  again  until  other  hands  than  hers  carried  it  out 
and  laid  it  away  in  the  Tracy  lot,  where  only  Jack  and  the 
dark  woman  were  lying  now. 

Maude  had  heard  all  Jerrie  was  saying,  and  understood 
it,  too  ;  and  at  the  words,  "  I  am  Jerry  Tracy,"  she  felt  an 
electric  thrill  pass  over  her,  like  what  she  had  experienced 
when  watching  the  acting  in  some  great  tragedy  ;  then  all 
was  darkness,  and  she  knew  no  more  until  Jerrie  was  bend- 
ing over  her  and  she  heard  her  mother  saying  : 

"Leave  her  to  me,  Miss  Crawford.  You  have  done  harm 
enough  for  one  day.  You  have  killed  my  daughter  !" 

"No,"  Maude  cried,  exerting  all  her  strength  "  She 
has  not  hurt  me.  She  must  not  go.  I  want  her  ;  for  if 
what  she  said  is  true,  she  is  my  own  cousin.  Oh,  Jerrie,  I 
am  sc  glad  \"  and  throwing  her  arms  around  Jerrie's  neck, 
Maude  sobbed  convulsively,  and  clung  tightly  to  Jerrie,  who, 
nearly  distraught  herself,  did  not  know  what  to  do.  She 
knew  that  Mrs.  Tracy  looked  upon  her  as  an  intruder,  and 
possibly  a  a  liar  ;  but  she  cared  little  for  that  lady's  opinion. 
She  only  thought  of  Frank  and  what  he  would  say. 

Lifting  up  her  head  at  last  from  the  pillow  where  she 
had  ain  it  for  a  moment,  she  saw  him  standing  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  taller,  ^traighter  than  she  had  seen  him  in  years, 
with  a  look  on  his  face  which  she  knew  was  not  adverse  to 
herself. 

"Jerrie,"  he  said,  slowly  and  thickly,  for  something 
choked  his  speech,  "I  can't  tell  you  now  all  I  feel,  only  I 
am  glad  for  you  and  Arthur,  but  gladder  for  myself,** 


380  WHAT   FOLLOWED. 

What  did  lie  mean  ?  Jerrie  •wondered  ;  while  Maude's 
eyes  sought  bis  quest  ioningly,  and  his  wife  said,  sharply  : 

"You  are  talking  like  a  lunatic  !  Do  you  propose  to  give 
up  so  easily  to  a  girl's  bare  word  ?  Let  Jerrie  prove  it  be- 
fore she  is  mistress  here." 

Then  Maude  whispered  :  "  There  were  papers  in  your 
hand,  Jerrie,  and  you  said,  'It  is  so  written  here/  Bring 
the  papers  and  read  them  to  MS.  I  can  bear  it.  I  must  hear 
them.  I  must  know." 

"  Better  let  her  have  her  way,"  Frank  said  ;  and  Dolly 
co"ld  have  knocked  him  down,  he  spoke  so  cheerfully; 
while  Jerrie  answered  : 

"I  can't  read  them  myself  aloud.     I  couldn't  bear  it." 

"But  Marian  can.  She  understands  German.  Let 
them  all  come  up ;  they  will  have  to  know,"  Maude  per- 
sisted. 

After  a  moment,  during  which  a  powerful  tonic  had 
heen  given  to  his  daughter,  Frank  went  down  to  his  guests, 
who  were  eagerly  discussing  the  strange  story,  which  not 
one  of  them  doubted  in  the  least. 

In  her  haste  to  reach  Maude,  Jerrie  had  dropped  the 
bag  and  the  two  papers,  which  Judge  St.  Claire  picked  up 
and  held  for  a  moment  in  his  hand  ;  then  passing  the 
papers  to  Marian,  he  said  : 

"  It  can  be  no  secret  now,  and  Jerrie  will  not  care. 
What  do  the  papers  contain  ?" 

Running  her  eyes  rapidly  over  them,  Marian  said  : 

"  The  first  is  a  certificate  of  marriage  between  Arthur 
Tracy  and  Marguerite  Heinrich,  who  were  married  October 
20th,  18 — ,  in  the  English  church  at  Wiesbaden,  by  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Eaton,  then  the  officiating  clergyman.  The 
second  is  a  certificate  of  the  birth  and  baptism  of  Jerri  nc, 
daughter  of  Arthur  and  Marguerite  Tracy,  who  was  born 
at  Wiesbaden,  January  l.-t,  18 — ,  and  christened  January 
8th,  18—,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Eaton." 

Then  a  deep  silence  fell  upon  the  group,  while  Tom 
stood  like  one  paralyzed.  He  understood  the  situation 
perfectly,  and  knew  that  Jerrie  was  mistress  of  Tracy  Park. 

"  May  as  well  vacate  at  once,"  he  said  at  last,  with  an 
attempt  to  smile,  as  he  walked  slowly  out  of  the  house. 

Just  then  Frank  came  down,  saying  that  Maude  insisted 
upon  knowing  what  was  in  the  papers  which  Marian  was  to 


WHAT    FOLLOWED.  381 

read,  while  the  others  were  to  come  up  and  listen.  He  did 
not  seem  at  all  like  a  man  who  hacf  lost  anything,  but 
bustled  about  cheerily  ;  and  when  the  judge  said  to  him 
apologetically,  "We  know  the  contents  of  two  of  the 
papers.  They  are  certificates  of  the  marriage  of  Arthur 
with  Gretchen,  and  of  Jerrie's  birth.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind  if  we  read  them,"  he  answered,  briskly. 

"Xot  at  all — not  in  the  least.  Arthur  and  Gretchen  ! 
I  thought  so.  Where  is  Tom  ?  He  must  hear  the  papers." 

He  found  his  son  sitting  under  the  tree  where  he  had 
been  sitting  the  morning  when  Jerrie  came  near  fainting 
there,  and  in  his  hand  was  a  bit  of  wood  finished  like  a 
grave-stone — the  same  he  had  whittled  under  the  pines, 
and  on  which  he  was  now  carving,  "Euchred,  August  — , 
18—." 

"This  is  the  monument  to  our  downfall,"  he  said,  as 
his  father  came  up  to  him  with  something  so  pitiful  in  his 
fu.v  and  voice  that  Frank  gave  way  suddenly,  and,  sitting 
down  beside  him,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  tall  son's  head 
and  cried  for  a  moment  like  a  child,  while  Tom's  chin 
quivered,  and  he  was  mortally  afraid  there  was  something 
like  tears  in  his  own  eyes,  and  he  meant  to  be  so  brave  and 
not  show  that  he  was  hurt. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  boy,"  Frank  said  at  last,  "  but 
glad  for  Jerrie — so  glad — and  she  will  not  be  hard  upon 
us." 

"  I  shall  ask  no  favors  of  her.  I  can  stand  it  if  you 
can,  though  money  is  a  good  thing  to  have." 

And  then,  without  in  the  least  knowing  why,  he  thought 
of  Ann  Eliza,  and  wondered  how  her  ankle  was  getting 
along,  and  if  he  ought  not  to  have  called  upon  her  again. 

"  Marian  is  going  to  read  the  papers  in  Maude's  room, 
and  I  have  come  for  you,"  Frank  said. 

"I  don't  care  to  hear  them,"  Tom  replied.  "lam 
satisfied  that  we  are  beggers,  and  Jerrie  the  heiress" 

But  Frank  insisted,  and  Tom  went  with  him  to  his 
sister's  room,  followed  by  their  friends,  for  whom  the 
dinner  was  waiting  and  spoiling  in  the  kitchen,  where  as 
yet  no  hint  of  what  was  transpiring  had  reached,  save  the 
fact  that  Maude  had  been  down  stairs  and  fainted.  She 
was  propped  upon  pillows,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 


382  THE    LETTERS. 

Jerrie,  who  sat  by  her  side,  holding  her  hands,  which  she 
occasionally  kissed,  and  caressed. 

"  Where  did  you  find  the  bag  ?"  the  Judge  asked  ;  and 
then  Jerrie  narrated  the  particulars  of  her  interview  with 
Peterkin,  whose  destruction  of  the  table  had  resulted  in 
her  finding  the  bag  with  the  diamonds  in  it. 

"  They  were  mother's,"  sbe  said,  the  last  word  almost  a 
sob,  as  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Tracy,  who  stood 
like  a  block  of  stone,  with  no  sympathy  or  credulity  upon 
her  face.  "  Father  bought  them  for  her  at  the  same  time 
with  Mrs.  Tracy's,  which  they  are  exactly  like.  It  is  so 
written  in  her  letter.  And  she  sent  them  for  me.  They 
are  mine,  and  I  gave  them  to  Harold  to  keep  until  I  could 
think  what  to  do.  The  diamonds  are  mine/' 

She  was  still  looking  at  Mrs.  Tracy,  on  whom  all  eyes 
were  resting  as  the  precious  stones  flashed  and  glittered, 
and  shone  in  the  sunlight. 

For  an  instant  the  proud  woman  hesitated,  then  quickly 
unclasping  the  ear-rings  and  the  pin,  she  laid  them  in 
Jerrie's  lap. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  your  property  if  it  is  yours,  I  am 
sure,"  she  said,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

But  her  husband  kept  her  back. 

"  No,  Dolly,"  he  said.  "  You  must  stay,  and  hear,  and 
know.  It  concerns  us  all." 

As  he  had  closed  the  door  and  stood  against  it,  she  had 
no  alternative  except  to  stay,  but  she  walked  to  the  window 
and  stood  with  her  back  to  them  all,  while  Marian  put 
into  English  and  read,  that  message  from  the  dead. 


CHAPTEB  XLVI. 

THE   LETTERS. 

THERE  were  four  of  them — two  in  Arthur's  handwrit- 
ing ;  one  directed  to  Mrs.  Arthur  Tracy,  Wiesbaden, 
postmarked  Liverpool ;  one  to  Marguerite  Heinrich,  Wies- 
baden, postmarked  Shannondale  ;  one  in  a  strange  hand- 
writing to  Arthur  Tracy,  if  living,  and  one  to  Arthur 


THE    LETTERS.  383 

Tracy's  friends,  if  he  were  dead,   or  incapable  of  under- 
standing it. 

And  it  was  this  last  which  Marian  read  ;  for  as  Arthur 
was  living,  she  felt  that  with  his  letters  strangers  had  noth- 
ing to  do.  The  letter  to  the  friends,  which  had  evidently 
been  written  at  intervals,  as  the  writer's  strength  would 
permit,  was  as  follows : 

WIESBADEN,  December  — ,  18 — . 

"  To  the  friends  of  Mr.  Arthur  Tracy,  if  he  is  dead,  or 
incapable  of  understanding  this  letter,  from  his  wife,  who 
was  Marguerite  Heiurich,  and  whom  he  always  called 
Gretchen. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  about  it,  for  the  sake  of  my  little 
Jerrie,  whom,  if  her  father  is  dead,  I  give  to  your  care, 
praying  God  to  deal  with  you  as  you  are  good  and  just  to 
her.  And  1  want  you  to  forgive  my  husband,  and  not  be 
angry  with  him  for  marrying  me,  a  poor,  obscure  girl,  with 
neither  money  nor  name.  I  was  seventeen  when  1  first  saw 
Mr.  Tracy.  My  father  was  dead.  I  was  an  only  child, 
and  my  mother  kept  a  little  fancy  shop  in  Wiesbaden.  I 
went  to  school  and  learned  what  other  girls  like  me  learned 
— to  read  and  write,  and  knit  and  sew,  and  fear  God  and 
keep  His  commandments.  People  called  me  pretty.  I 
don't  know  that  I  was,  but  he  told  me  so  when  he  came  to 
me  one  day  as  I  was  knitting  under  a  tree  in  the  park.  He 
had  a  picture  made  of  me  as  I  was  then,  and  it  is  on  the 
wall,  but  1  have  pawned  it  for  the  rent,  as  I  have  almost 
eventhing." 

"  Oh,  Jerrie  \"  Marian  exclaimed  at  this  point. 

But  Jerrie's  face  was  buried  in  Maude's  pillow,  and 
she  made  no  response.  So  Marian  read  on  : 

"  He  came  many  times,  for  I  was  always  there  waiting 
for  him,  I  am  afraid  ;  but  when  he  said  he  loved  me  and 
wanted  me  for  his  wife,  I  could  not  believe  it,  he  was  so 
grand,  so  like  nobility,  and  I  so  poor  and  plain.  Then 
mother  died  suddenly — well  to-day,  dead  to-morrow — with 
cholera,  and  I  was  left  alone. 

"  '  ("m-tchen,  we  must  be  married  now,'  he  said  to  me, 
the  night,  after  the  funeral;  and  I  answered  him,  'Yes, 
we  must  be  married  ;'  and  we  were,  the  next  day,  in  the 
little  English  church,  by  Mr.  Eaton,  the  pastor.  You  will 


384  TUE    LETTERS. 

find  the  certificate  with  the  other  papers.  Do  you  ever 
remember  a  beautiful  moonlight  night,  when  the  air  w;:s 
soft,  and  warm,  and  sweet  with  many  summer  flowers,  and 
there  was  music  in  the  distance,  and  heaven  seemed  so  near 
that  you  could  almost  touch  the  blue  lining  which  sepa- 
rates it  from  us  ?  Well,  just  like  that  was  my  life  with 
Arthur  for  a  few  months.  Oh,  how  I  loved  him,  and  how 
he  loved  me !  It  frightened  me  sometimes,  he  was  so 
fierce  and — I  don't  know  what  the  word  is — so  something 
in  his  love.  He  never  left  me  a  moment.  He  couldn't,  he 
said,  for  I  was  his  balance-wheel,  and  without  me  lie  was 
lost.  I  think  now  he  was  crazy  then.  I  know  he  was 
afterward,  when  he  did  such  queer  things,  and  forgot  so 
often — sometimes  the  house  we  lived  in,  sometimes  his  own 
name,  and  at  last,  me,  his  Gretchen  !  That  was  so  sad, 
when  he  went  away,  and  staid  away  for  weeks,  and  said  he 
had  forgotten.  But  he  was  sorry,  too,  and  made  it  up,  and 
for  ten  days  heaven  came  down  again  so  I  could  touch  it ; 
then  he  went  away,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  his  friends — if  I  stopped  a  little 
while  to  cry ;  it  makes  me  so  lonesome  to  think  of  the  long 
years — four  and  more — which  have  been  buried  with  the 
yesterday's,  under  the  flowers,  and  under  the  snow,  since 
Arthur  went  away  and  left  me  all  alone.  If  I  had  told 
him,  he  might  have  come  back,  he  was  so  fond  of  children ; 
but  I  was  not  sure,  and  would  not  tell  a  lie,  and  let  him  go 
without  a  hint.  I  wrote  him  once  I  had  something  to  tell 
him  when  he  came  which  would  make  him  glad,  as  it  did 
me,  and  he  never  replied  to  it,  though  he  wrote  two  or 
three  times  more,  and  sent  me  money,  but  did  not  tell 
where  he  was,  only  he  was  being  cured,  he  said — that  was 
all.  In  January  my  baby  was  born,  and  I  had  her  christ- 
ened Jerrine,  by  Mr.  Eaton.  You  will  find  it  with  the 
papers.  Then,  how  I  longed  for  him,  and  waited,  and 
watched  ;  but  he  never  came,  and  I  knew  he  had  forgotten ; 
but  I  did  not  doubt  his  love  for  a  moment,  or  that  he  would 
one  day  come  back ;  and  I  tried  to  improve  myself,  and 
learn  what  was  in  books,  so  I  could  mate  with  him  better 
when  he  came  home,  which  he  never  did  ;  and  the  years 
went  on,  and  my  little  Jerri e  grew  more  lovely  every  day.  She 
is  standing  by  me  now,  and  says,  'Are  you  writing  to  him?' 

"  Darling  Jerrie,  you  will  be  kind  to  her,  won't  you, 


THE    LETTERS.  385 

for  his  sake,  and  for  mo,  too,  who  will  bo  dead  when  you 
read  this  ?" 

Jerri c  was  sobbing  now,  and  Maude's  arm  was  around 
her  neck,  while  Frank  had  walked  to  a  window,  and,  like 
his  wife,  was  looking  out  upon  the  lawn,  which  he  did  not 
see  for  the  tears  which  filled  his  eyes. 

"  When  the  money  stopped,"  the  letter  went  on,  "we 
grew  so  poor,  Jcrrie  and  I  and  Xanninc — that  is  the  French 
woman  who  lives  with  me  and  whom  Jorrie  calls  Mah-nee. 
She  will  bring  my  child  to  you  when  I  am  dead  ;  and  oh, 
be  kind  to  her,  for  a  truer,  more  faithful  woman  never 
lived.  She  is  such  a  comfort  to  me,  except  when  she  scolds 
about  Arthur  and  calls  him  a  bete  noir,  which,  he  is  not, 
as  you  will  see.  He  was  shut  up,  I  don't  know  wrhere,  but 
think  it  was  where  they  put  people  with  bad  heads,  and  he 
forgot  everything  till  he  was  out,  and  as  far  as  Paris  on  his 
way  to  America.  Then  he  remembered,  and  wrote  me  from 
Liverpool  such  a  letter — full  of  love  and  sorrow  for  the  past, 
and  sent  me  such  lovely  diamonds,  just  like  those  he  had 
bought  for  his  sister  in  America,  he  said — and  he  was  going 
home  at  such  a  date  on  the  Scotia,  and  he  wished  me  to  join 
him  in  Liverpool.  I  send  the  letter  with  this  to  prove 
that  I  write  true.  But  it  was  too  late,  for  I  was  too  weak  to 
travel  ;  neither  could  I  write  tc  him  in  America  for  he  gave 
me  no  address. 

"  That  was  last  September,  and  I  have  been  dying  ever 
since,  for  my  heart  broke  when  I  thought  of  what  was  and 
what  might  have  been,  could  I  have  found  him.  The 
money  he  sent  me  then  I  am  saving  for  Xannine  and  Jerrie 
to  take  them  to  America  when  lam  dead.  All  the  days  and 
nights  I  prayed  that  Arthur  might  remember  and  write  me 
again,  ;md  God  heard,  and  he  did  ;  and  five  days  ago  I  re- 
ceived his  letter.  So  crazy  it  was,  but  just  as  full  of  love 
and  tenderness  and  a  desire  to  see  me.  He  told  me  of  his 
lovely  home  and  the  Gretchen  room,  where  my  picture  is  in 
the  window  ;  and  in  case  there  should  bv  no  one  to  meet 
me  at  the  station  when  I  arrived  he  sent  nic  directions  how 
to  find  Tracy  Park,  and  told  me  just  what  to  do  when  I 
rcachi'd  New  York,  lie  would  come  forme  himself,  he  said, 
only  the  sea  made  him  BO  >i<-k,  and  he  was  afraid  he  should 
!  everything  if  he  did.  But  you  will  see  in  his  letter 
what  lie  wrote  mid  how  fond  he  was  of  me  ;  and  if  he  is 
17 


386  THE   LETTERS. 

alive  and  too  crazy  to  understand  now,  tell  him,  when  he  is 
better,  how  I  loved  him,  and  prayed  for  him  every  hour 
that  God  would  bring  him,  at  last,  where  I  am  going  so 
soon.  Nannine  will  take  him  my  Bible,  with  passages 
marked  by  me,  and  a  photograph,  which  I  had  taken  a  year 
ago,  and  which  will  tell  you  how  I  looked  then.  Now  I  am 
so  thin  and  pale  that  Arthur  would  hardly  know  me.  I 
send,  too,  a  lock  of  Jerrie's  hair,  cut  when  she  was  three 
weeks  old.  She  is  such  a  comfort  to  me,  and  so  old  and 
womanly  for  her  years  !  She  will  remember  much  of  oar 
life  here  for  she  notices  everything  and  understands  it,  too, 
and  goes  over,  as  in  a  play,  what  she  sees  and  hears. 

"  We  have  been  cold  and  hungry  sometimes,  but  not 
often,  the  neighbors  are  so  kind  ;  and  when  I  am  dead  they 
will  see  that  Nannine  is  made  ready  for  America,  with 
Jerrie,  and  the  papers,  and  the  diamonds,  which  I  might 
have  pawned  when  our  need  was  greatest,  but  1  could  not. 
I  must  save  them  for  Jerrie,  and  may  she  wear  them  many 
days  in  years  to  come,  when  her  mother  is  dust  and  ashes 
in  the  ground,  but  a  glorified  spirit  in  Paradise,  where  I 
shall  watch  over  her,  and,  if  I  can,  be  with  her  often,  and 
keep  myself  in  her  mind,  so  that  she  will  never  forget  my 
face,  or  the  old  home  in  Germany. 

"  God  bless  my  little  daughter,  and  make  her  a  true, 
noble  woman ;  and  God  bless  you,  Arthur's  friends,  who 
read  this,  and  incline  you  to  be  kind  and  just  to  Jerrie, 
and  see  that  she  has  her  own  ;  for  there  must  be  money  at 
Tracy  Park ;  and  if  you  are  poor  and  Jerrie  comes  lich, 
tell  her  from  her  mother  to  be  kind  to  you,  and  give  as  you 
have  given  to  her.  Now  I  must  stop,  I  am  so  tired  and  it 
is  growing  so  dark  that  Nannine  has  opened  the  stove  door 
to  let  the  light  fall  on  the  paper  in  my  lap,  and  Jerrie  is 
standing  by  me  and  says,  'Are  you  going  to  God  pretty 
soon  ?' 

"  Yes,  darling,  very  soon — to-night,  perhaps,  or  to-mor- 
row, or  when  He  will.  The  air  grows  cold,  the  night  is 
coming  on,  my  eyes  are  dim,  my  head  is  tired.  I  think, 
yes,  I  think  it  will  be  to-morrow.  Good -by. 

"GRETCHEN  TRACY." 

As  she  finished  reading,  Marian  arose,  and  going  up  to 
Jerrie  kissed  her  lovingly  and  said  to  her  in  German  : 


THE   LETTERS.  38? 

"That  was  your  mother's  picture  in  our  old  home  in 
Wiesbaden.  I  am  so  glad  for  you." 

A  low  sob  was  Jerne's  reply,  and  then  Judge  St.  Claire 
asked  : 

"  Is  that  all?" 

"  Yes,"  Marian  said.  "All  except  Mr.  Tracy's  letters 
to  Gretchen.  Oh,  no,"  she  added;  "there  is  something 
more ;"  and  feeling  in  the  bag,  she  drew  out  two  small 
papers,  one  crumpled  and  worn,  as  if  it  had  often  been  refer- 
red to,  the  other  folded  neatly  and  tied  with  a  white  ribbon. 

This  Marian  opened  first,  and  found  it  to  be  a  certifi- 
cate, written  in  English,  to  the  effect  that  Mrs.  Arthur 
Tracy,  nee  Marguerite  Heinrich,  died  at  such  a  date  and 
was  buried  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bellows,  the  resident  rector  of 
the  English  church  ;  the  other  was  in  Arthur's  handwrit- 
ing, and  the  directions  he  had  written  to  his  wife,  as  to 
what  she  was  to  do  and  how  to  find  Tracy  Park. 

"  Yes,"  Judge  St.  Claire  said,  coming  forward  and  tak- 
ing the  paper  from  her  hand,  "this  is  what  the  station- 
master  saw  the  poor  woman  examining  that  night  in  the 
storm.  She  probably  dropped  it  into  the  bag  without 
stopping  to  fold  it.  There  can  be  no  doubt." 

Then  a  deep  silence  reigned  for  a  moment  in  the  room, 
until  Mrs.  Tracy,  who,  all  through  the  reading  had  stood 
like  a  block  of  granite  by  the  window,  turned  and  walking 
up  to  Jerrie,  said,  in  a  bitter  tone  : 

"  Of  course  there  is  no  mistake.  I  do  not  doubt  that 
you  are  mistress  here,  and  am  ready  to  leave  at  once.  Shall 
we  pack  up  and  quit  to-night  ?" 

"Dolly  !  Mother  !"  came  angrily  and  sternly  from  both 
Tom  and  Frank,  and  "Oh,  mamma,  please,"  came  faintly 
from  Maude,  while  Jerrie  lifted  up  her  head,  and  looking 
steadily  at  the  cruel  woman,  said  : 

"  Why  arc  you  so  hard  with  me  ?  I  cannot  help  it.  I  am 
not  to  blame.  I  mean  to  do  right ;  only  wait — a  little.  I 
am  so  sick  now — so  dizzy  and  blind.  Will  somebody  lead 
me  out  where  I  can  breathe.  I  am  choking  here." 

It  was  Tom  who  took  her  into  the  ope.i  air  and  to  a  seat 
under  the  tree  where  once  before  she  had  almost  fainted,  as 
she  did  now,  with  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  for  he  put  it 
there,  and  then  pushed  her  hair  back  from  her  face,  as  he 
said,  lightly  : 


388  THE   LETTERS. 

"  Don't  take  it  so  hard  ;  if  we  can  stand  it,  you  can  \" 

Then  Jcrrie  straightened  up  and  said  : 

"Tom,  do  you  want  to  kill  me  now  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked,  and  she  replied  : 

"Don't  you  know  you  said  under  the  pines  that  you 
would  kill  any  claimant  to  Tracy  Park  who  might  appear 
against  you  !" 

"I  remember  it,"  Tom  said,  "but  I  didn't  think  then 
that  the  claimant  would  be  you,"  and  he  put  his  arm  around 
her  as  he  continued  :  "I  can't  say  that  I  am  not  awfully 
cut  up  to  be  turned  neck  and  heels  out  of  what  I  believed 
would  be  my  own,  but  if  I  must  be,  I  am  glad  it  is  you  who 
do  it,  for  I  know  you'll  not  be  hard  upon  us,  or  let  Uncle 
Arthur  be,  even  if  mother  is  so  mean.  Remember,  Jerrie, 
that  I  loved  you  and  asked  you  to  be  my  wife  when  I  be- 
lieved you  poor  and  unknown." 

Tom  was  very  politic,  but  all  the  good  there  was  in  him 
seemed  now  to  be  on  the  surface,  and  while  inwardly  rebel- 
ling at  his  misfortune,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  in  knowing 
that  Jerrie  was  his  cousin,  and  would  not  be  hard  upon  him. 

"  Shall  we  go  back  to  the  house  ?"  he  said  at  last,  and 
they  went  back,  meeting  the  people  upon  the  piazza,  where 
they  stopped  for  a  moment  while  Jerrie's  hands  were  shaken, 
and  she  was  congratulated  that  at  last  the  mystery  was 
cleared,  and  her  rights  restored  to  her. 

"Mr.  Arthur  Tracy  ought  to  be  here,"  Judge  St.  Claire 
said. 

"Yes,  I'd  thought  of  that,"  Tom  replied,  "and  shall 
telegraph  him  to-morrow." 

Then  they  said  good-night,  and  without  going  in  to  see 
either  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Tracy  again,  Tom  and  Jerrie  walked 
toward  the  cottage,  through  the  woods  where  the  trees  met 
in  graceful  arches  over  head,  and  the  moonlight  fell  in 
silver  flecks  upon  the  grass,  and  the  summer  air  was  odor- 
ous and  sweet  with  the  smell  of  the  pines  and  the  balm  of 
Gilead  trees  scattered  here  and  there.  It  was  a  lovely 
place,  and  Tom  thought  so  with  a  keen  sense  of  pain,  as, 
after  leaving  Jerrie  at  her  gate,  he  walked  slowly  back, 
until  he  reached  the  four  pines,  where  he  sat  down  to  think 
and  wonder  what  he  should  do  as  a  poor  man,  with  neither 
business  or  prospects. 

"  I  don't  suppose  father  has  laid  up  much,"  he  said, 


ARTHUR.  380 

"  for  since  TIncle  Arthur  came  home  he  has  done  very  little 
business,  and  has  spent  what  really  was  his  own  reck- 
lessly and  without  a  thought  of  saving,  he  was  so  sure 
to  have  enough  at  last,  and  Uncle  Arthur  was  so  free  to 
give  us  what  we  asked  for.  But  that  will  end  when  he 
knows  he  has  a  daughter,  and  as  he  never  fancied  me  much, 
I  shall  either  have  to  beg,  or  work,  or  starve,  or  many  a 
rich  wife,  which  is  not  so  easy  for  a  poor  dog  to  do.  I 
don't  suppose  that  governor's  daughter  would  look  at  me 
now,  nor  any  one  else  who  is  anybody.  By  George,  I  ought 
to  have  called  on  Ann  Eliza  again.  I  wonder  if  it's  too 
late.  I  believe  I'll  walk  around  there  any  way,  and  if  I  see 
a  light,  I'll  go  in,  and  if  old  paterfamilias — how  I'd  like  to 
kick  him — is  there,  I'll  tell  him  the  news,  and  that  I  know 
now  he  did  not  strike  Jerrie  with  the  table-leg,  and 
perhaps  I'll  apologize  for  what  I  said  in  the  car.  Tom 
Tracy,  you  are  a  scoundrel,  and  no  mistake,"  he  added, 
with  energy,  as  he  arose  and  struck  into  the  field,  through 
which  he  had  dragged  Ann  Eliza  the  night  of  the  storm. 

There  were  lights  at  Le  Bateau,  and  Tom  was  soon 
shaking  hands  with  old  paterfamilias,  and  with  Ann  Eliza, 
who  was  now  able  to  come  down  stairs. 


CHAPTEK  XLVII. 

ARTHUR. 

HE  had  enjoyed  himself  immensely,  from  the  moment 
he  first  caught  sight  of  grand  old  Pike's  Peak  on  the 
distant  plains  until  he  entered  the  city  of  the  Golden  Gate, 
and,  standing  on  the  terrace  of  the  Cliff  House,  looked  out 
upon  the  blue  Pacific,  with  the  sea  lions  disporting  on  the 
rocks  below.  For  he  went  there  first,  and  then  to  China- 
town, and  explored  every  nook  and  corner,  and  opium  den 
in  it,  and  drank  tea  at  twenty  dollars  a  pound  in  a  high- 
toned  restaurant,  and  visited  the  theater  and  the  Joss-house, 
and  patronized  the  push-cars,  as  he  called  them,  every  day, 


390  ARTHUR. 

and  experienced  a  wonderful  exhilaration  of  spirits,  as  lie 
sat  upon  the  front  seat,  with  tbe  fresh  air  blowing  upcn  his 
face,  and  only  the  broad,  steep  street,  lined  with  palaces, 
before  him. 

"  This  is  heaven  !  this  clears  the  cobwebs  !"he  said  to 
Charles,  who  sat  beside  him  with  chattering  teeth  and  his 
coat-collar  pulled  high  about  his  ears,  for  the  winds  of  San 
Francisco  are  cold  even  in  the  summer. 

Arthur's  first  trip  was  to  the  Yosemite,  taking  the  Mil- 
ton route,  and  meeting  with  the  adventure  he  so  much  de- 
sired ;  for  in  the  early  morning,  between  Chinese  Camp  and 
Priest's,  tbe  stage  was  suddenly  stopped  by  two  masked 
marauders,  one  of  whom  stood  at  the  horses'  heads,  while 
the  other  confronted  the  terrified  passengers  with  the  blood- 
curdling words  : 

"Hands  up,  every  soul  of  you  !" 

And  the  hands  went  up  from  timid  women  and  strong 
men,  until  click-click  came  in  rapid  succession  from  the 
driver's  box,  where  Arthur  sat,  and  shot  after  shot  followed 
each  other,  one  bullet  grazing  the  ear  of  the  highwayman 
at  the  horses'  heads,  and  another  cutting  through  the 
slouched  hat  of  bis  comrade  near  the  stage. 

"  Leave,  or  I'll  shoot  you  dead  !  I've  five  more  shots  in 
this  one,  and  two  more  revolvers  in  my  pockets,  and  I'm  not 
afraid  !"  Arthur  yelled,  jumping  about  like  a  maniac,  and 
so  startling  the  robbers  that  they  fled  precipitately,  fol- 
lowed for  a  little  distance  by  Arthur,  who  had  leaped  from 
the  stage  and  who  started  in  pursuit,  with  a  revolver  in 
each  hand,  and  ball  after  ball  flying  ahead  of  him  as  he 
ran. 

"When  at  last  he  came  back,  the  passengers  flocked 
around  him,  grasping  his  hands  and  blessing  him  as  the 
preserver  of  their  money,  if  not  of  their  lives.  After  that 
Arthur  was  a  lion  whom  all  the  people  in  the  valley  wished 
to  see  and  talk  with,  and  with  whom  the  landlord  bore  as  he 
had  never  borne  with  a  guest  before,  for  Arthur  found 
fault  with  the  rooms,  which  he  likened  to  bath-tubs,  and 
fault  with  the  smells  which  came  from  the  river,  and  fault 
with  the  smoke  in  the  parlor,  but  made  ample  amends  by 
the  money  he  spent  so  lavishly,  the  scores  of  photographs 
he  bought,  and  the  puffs  he  wrote  for  the  San  Francisco 
papers,  extolling  the  valley  as  the  very  gate  of  heaven,  and 


ARTHUR.  391 

the  hotel  as  second  only  to  the  Palace,  and  signing  himself 
"Bumble  Bees/' 

He  went  on  every  trail,  and  climbed  the  highest  possible 
peak,  and  when  he  stood  on  the  top  of  old  Capitan  and 
looked  down  upon  the  world  below,  he  capered  and  shouted 
like  a  madman,  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  Mine  eyes 
have  seen  the  coming  of  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  glory,  glory, 
hallelujah  \"  until  the  rocky  gorges  rang  with  the  wild 
echoes  which  went  floating  down  the  valley  below,  where 
the  sun  was  shining  so  brightly  and  the  grass  was  growing 
so  green. 

On  his  return  to  San  Francisco  after  an  absence  of 
several  weeks,  he  took  up  his  abode  at  the  Palace 
Hotel,  which  he  turned  topsy-turvy  with  his  vagaries; 
but  the  landlord  could  afford  to  bear  much  from  one  who 
spent  his  money  so  freely  ;  and  so  he  was  allowed  to 
change  rooms  every  day  if  he  liked,  and  half  the  plumbers 
in  the  city  were  called  in  to  see  what  caused  the  smells 
which  he  declared  worse  than  any  thing  he  had  ever  met 
in  his  life,  and  which  were  caused  in  part  by  the  disinfect- 
ants which  he  bought  by  the  wholesale  and  kept  in  his  bath- 
room, his  wash-room,  and  under  his  bed,  until  the  cham- 
bermaid tied  up  her  nose  in  camphor  when  she  went  in  to 
do  her  work. 

But  his  career  was  brought  to  a  close  suddenly  one 
morning,  when,  just  as  he  was  taking  his  coffee  and  rolls 
in  his  room,  Charles  brought  him  the  following  telegram  : 

"  Come  immediately.    There's  the  devil  to  pay. 

"Ton  TRACT." 

Arthur  read  the  message  two  or  three  times,  not  at  all 
disturbed  by  it,  but  vastly  amused  at  its  wording ;  then, 
putting  it  down,  he  went  on  with  his  breakfast  until  it  was 
finished,  when  he  took  a  card  from  his  pocket  and  wrote 
upon  it : 

"Pay  him  then,  for  I  sha'nt  come. 

"  ARTHUR  TRACT." 

This  was  handed  to  Charles  with  instructions  to  forward 
it  to  Tracy  Park.  This  done,  he  gave  no  further  thought 


392  ARTHUR. 

to  the  message  PO  full  cf  such  import  to  himself,  but  began 
to  talk  of  and  plan  bis  contemplated  trip  to  Tacoma  by  the 
next  steamer  which  sailed.  It  was  six  o'clock  when  he  had 
his  dinner  in  his  own  private  parlor,  where  he  was  served 
by  both  Charles  and  a  waiter,  and  where  a  second  telegram 
was  brought  him. 

"Confound  it,"  he  said,  " have  they  nothing  to  do  at 
home  but  to  torment  me  with  telegrams  ?  Didn't  I  tell  them 
to  pay  the  old  Harry  and  done  with  it  ?  What  do  they 
mean  ?"  and  putting  the  envelope  down  by  his  plate  he  went 
quietly  on  with  his  dinner  until  he  was  through,  when  he 
took  it  up,  and,  breaking  the  seal,  read  : 

"  Come  at  once.    I  need  you. 

"  JERRIE." 

That  changed  everything,  and  with  a  bound  he  was  in 
the  next  room,  gesticulating  fiercely,  and  ordering  Charles 
to  step  lively  and  get  everything  in  readiness  to  start  home 
on  the  first  eastward  bound  train  which  left  San  Francisco. 

"That  rascally  Tom  is  a  liar/'  he  said.  "  It's  not  the 
devil  to  pay.  IfsJerrie.  Do  you  hear,  it's  Jerrie.  Bring  me 
some  paper,  quick,  and  don't  stand  staring  at  me  as  if  I  were 
a  lunatic.  It's  Jerrie,  who  needs  me." 

Charles  brought  the  paper,  on  which  his  master  wrote  : 

"  Coming  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 

"  Yours  respectfully, 

"  ARTHUR  TRACT. " 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  this  singular,  message  was 
flying  along  the  wires  across  the  continent,  and  within  a 
few  hours  Arthur  was  following  it  as  fast  as  the  steam  horse 
could  take  him, 


WHAT  THEY  WERE  DOING  IN  SHANNON  DALE.     393 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

WHAT  THEY  WERE  DOING  AND  HAD  DONE  IN  SHANNON- 
DALE. 

IF  the  earth  had  opened  suddenly  and  swallowed  up  half  tho 
inhabitants  of  Shannondale  the  other  half  could  not 
have  been  more  astonished  than  they  were  at  the  news  which 
Peterkin  was  the  first  to  tell  them,  and  which  he  had  risen 
very  enrly  to  do,  before  some  one  else  should  be  before  him. 
Irascible  and  quick  tempered  as  he  was,  he  was  easily  ap- 
peased and  the  fact  that  Jerrie  was  Arthur  Tracy's  daughter 
changed  his  opinion  of  her  at  once. 

"The  biggest  heiress  in  the  county  except  my  Ann 'Liza, 
and,  by  gum,  Pm  glad  on't  for  her  and  Arthur.  I  alias  said 
she  was  hisen,  and  by  George,  to  think  I  helped  her  into 
her  fortin,  for  if  I  hadn't  of  knocked  that  rotten  old  table 
down  she'd  of  never  found  them  memoirs,"  he  said  to  the 
first  person  to  whom  he  communicated  the  news,  and  then 
hurried  off  to  enlighten  others,  until  every  body  knew  and 
was  discussing  the  strange  story. 

Before  noon  scores  of  people  had  found  it  in  their  way 
to  walk  past  the  cottage  hoping  to  catch  sight  of  Jerrie, 
while  a  few  went  in  to  tell  her  how  glad  they  were  for  her 
and  Mr.  Arthur.  But  Jerrie  was  in  her  room  too  sick  and 
tired  to  see  them,  and  they  could  only  question  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford who  was  herself  half  crazed. 

When  Mrs.  Crawford  heard  the  story  Jerrie  told  her  af- 
ter her  return  from  the  Park  House,  she  had  been  for  a  few 
moments  stupefied  with  amazement,  and  had  sat  motionless 
until  she  heard  Jerrie  say  to  her  : 

"Dear  grandma,  I  told  you  your  working  days  were 
over,  and  they  are,  for  what  is  mine  is  yours  and  Harold's, 
and  my  home  is  your  home  always,  so  long  as  you  live." 

Then  the  poor  old  lady  put  her  head  upon  Jerrie's  arm 
and  cried  hysterically  for  a  moment,  then  she  rallied,  and 
kissed  the  young  girl  who  had  been  so  much  to  her,  and 
whom  for  a  brief,  moment  she  feared  she  might  have  lost. 
For  a  long  time  they  talked  of  the  past  and  the  future,  and 
IV* 


391  WHAT    THET     WERE   DOING 

of  Harold,  who  was  in  Tacoma,  where  he  might  have  to  re- 
main for  three  or  four  weeks  longer.  He  had  written  several 
times  to  his  grandmother  and  once  to  Jerri e,  but  had  made 
no  mention  of  the  diamonds,  while  in  her  letters  to  him 
Mrs.  Crawford  had  refrained  from  telling  him  what  some 
of  the  people  were  saying,  and  the  construction  they  were 
putting  upon  his  absence.  Jerrie  had  not  yet  written  to 
him,  but,  "  I  shall  to-morrow,"  she  said,  "and  tell  him  to 
come  home,  for  I  need  him  now,  if  ever." 

Jerrie  was  very  tired  when  she  went  at  last  to  bed,  but 
the  dreamless  sleep  which  came  upon  her,  and  which  lasted^ 
until  a  late  hour  in  the  morning,  did  her  good,  and  prob- 
ably saved  her  from  a  relapse,  which  might  have  proved 
fatal.  Still  she  was  very  weak  and  too  sick  to  go  down 
stairs,  for  the  excitement  of  the  previous  night  was  telling 
upon  her,  and  when  Tom  came  asking  to  see  her,  she 
received  him  in  her  room.  He  had  been  up  since  sunrise, 
strolling  through  the  park,  with  a  troubled  look  on  his 
face,  for  he  was  extremely  sorry  for  himself,  though  very 
glad  for  Jerrie,  whose  sworn  ally  he  was  and  would  be  to  the 
end.  In  a  way  he  had  tried  to  comfort  his  mother  by  tell- 
ing her  that  neither  his  uncle  or  Jerrie  would  be  unjust  to 
her,  if  she'd  only  behave  herself,  and  treat  the  latter  as  she 
ought,  and  not  keep  up  such  a  high  and  mighty  and  injured 
air,  as  if  Jerrie  had  done  something  wrong  in  finding  out 
who  she  was. 

But  Dolly  would  not  be  comforted,  and  her  face  wore  a 
sullen,  defiant  expression,  as  she  moved  about  the  house 
where  she  had  queened  it  so  long  that  she  really  looked  upon 
it  as  her  own,  resenting  bitterly  the  thought  that  another 
was  to  be  mistress  there.  She  had  talked  with  her  hus- 
band, and  made  him  tell  her  exactly  how  much  he  was 
worth  in  his  own  right,  and  when  he  told  her  how  little  it 
was,  she  had  exclaimed,  angrily  : 

"  We  are  beggars,  and  may  as  well  go  back  to  Langley 
and  sell  codfish  again." 

She  had  seen  Tom  that  morning,  and  when  to  her 
question,  ' l  Why  are  you  p  so  early  ?"  he  replied,  "  To 
attend  to  Jerrie's  affairs/'  she  tossed  her  head  scornfully, 
and  said  : 

"  Before  I'd  crawl  after  any  girl,  much  less  Jerrie  Craw- 
ford !  You'd  better  be  attending  to  your  own  sister. 


IN   SHANNONDALE.  895 

She's  worse  this  morning,  and  looks  as  if  she  might  die  at 
any  minute." 

Then  Tom  went  to  Maude,  who,  since  the  shock  of  the 
night  before,  had  lain  as  if  she  were  dead,  except  for  her 
eyes,  in  which  there  was  a  new  and  wondrous  light,  and 
which  looked  up  lovingly  at  Tom  as  he  came  in  and  kissed 
her,  a  most  unusual  thing  for  him  to  do. 

"  Dear  Tom,"  she  whispered,  "  come  closer  to  me/' 
and  as  he  bent  down  to  her,  she  continued,  "  is  every  thing 
Jerrie's  ?" 

"  Yes,  or  will  be.     She  is  Uncle  Arthur's  daughter." 

"  Shall  we  be  very  poor  ?" 

"Yes,  poor  as  a  church  mouse." 

Then  there  was  a  pause,  and  when  Maude  spoKe  again, 
she  said,  slowly : 

"  For  me,  no  matter — sorry  for  you,  and  father,  and 
mother  ;  but  glad  for  Jerrie.  Stand  by  her,  Tom  ;  tell 
mother  not  to  be  so  bitter — it  hurts  me.  Tell  Harold, 
when  he  comes,  I  meant  to  do  so  much  for  him,  but  Jerrie 
will  do  it  instead.  Tell  her  I  must  see  her,  and  send  for 
Uncle  Arthur." 

There  was  a  lump  in  Tom's  throat  as  he  left  his  sister's 
room,  and  going  to  the  village,  telegraphed  to  his  uncle's 
headquarters  at  the  Palace  Hotel  in  San  Francisco. 

At  least  a  hundred  people  stopped  him  on  his  way  to  the 
office,  asking  if  what  they  had  heard  was  true,  and  to  all  he 
replied : 

"  Ti-ue  as  the  gospel ;  we  are  floored,  as  Peterkin  would 
say." 

And  then  he  hurried  to  the  cottage  to  see  Jerrie,  and 
tell  her  of  the  message  sent  to  Arthur,  though  not  how  it 
was  worded.  After  a  moment  he  continued,  hesitatingly, 
as  if  hulf  ashamed  of  it : 

"  I  called  at  Lubbertoo  last  night  to  inquire  after  Ann 
Eliza's  foot,  and  you  ought  to  have  seen  Peterkin  when  I 
told  him  the  news.  At  first  he  could  not  find  any  word  in 
his  vocabulary  big  enough  to  swear  by,  but  after  a  while  one 
came  to  him,  and  what  do  you  think  it  was  ?" 

Jerrie  could  not  guess,  and  'i  Ji  continued  : 

"  He  said,  '  By  the  great  Peterkin  !'  and  then  he  swowed 
and  vowed,  andsnummed,  andvummed,  anddummed,  and 
finally  said  he  was  glad  of  it,  and  had  always  known  you 


390 

were  a  Tracy.  Ann  Eliza  was  so  glad  she  cried,  and  I  think 
Billy  cried,  too,  for  he  left  the' room  suddenly,  with  very 
suspicious  looking  eyes.  Why,  everybody  is  glad  for  you, 
Jerrie,  and  nobody  seems  to  think  how  mean  it  is  for  us  ; 
but  I'm  not  going  to  whine.  I'm  glad  it's  you,  and  so  is 
Maude,  and  she  wants  to  see  you.  I  believe  she's  going  to 
die,  and — and — Jerrie — " 

Something  choked  Tom  for  a  moment,  then  he  went 
on  : 

"  If  Uncle  Arthur  should  get  high,  and  order  us  out  at 
once,  as  father  seems  to  think  he  will,  you'll — you'll — Ictus 
stay  while  Maude  lives,  won't  you  ?" 

"Tom,"  Jerrie  said,  reproachfully,  "what  do  you  take 
me  for,  and  why  does  your  father  think  his  brother  will  or- 
der him  out  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  Tom  replied,  "but  he  seems  awfully 
afraid  to  meet  him.  Mother  says  he  was  up  all  night  walk- 
ing the  floor  and  talking  to  himself,  and  yet  he  says  he  is 
glad,  and  he  is  coining  this  morning  to  see  you  and  talk  it 
over.  I  believe  I  hear  him  now  speaking  to  Mrs.  Crawford. 
Yes,  'tis  he  ;  so  I  guess  I'll  go  ;  and  when  I  hear  from  my 
telegram  I'll  let  you  know.  Good-by." 

A  moment  after  Tom  left  the  room  his  father  entered 
it,  looking  haggard  and  old,  and  frightened,  too,  it  seemed 
to  Jerrie,  us  she  met  him  with  a  cheery  "good-morning, 
Uncle  Frank." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  addressed  him  by  that 
name,  and  her  smile  was  so  bright  and  her  manner  so  cor- 
dial that  for  an  instant  the  cloud  lifted  from  his  face,  but 
soon  came  back  darker  than  ever  as  he  declined  the  seat  she 
offered  him  and  stood  tremblingly  before  her. 

Frank  had  not  slept  the  previous  night,  but  had  walked 
his  room  until  his  wife  said  to  him,  angrily  : 

"  I  thought  you  were  glad ;  seems  to  me  you  don't  act 
like  it ;  but  for  pity's  sake  stop  walking,  or  go  somewhere 
else  to  do  it  and  not  keep  me  awake." 

Then  he  went  into  the  hall  outside,  and  there  he  walked 
the  livelong  night,  trying  to  think  what  he  should  say  to 
Jerrie,  and  wondering  what  she  would  say  to  him,  for  he 
meant  to  tell  her  everything.  Nothing  could  prevent  his 
doing  that ;  and  as  soon  as  he  thought  she  would  see  him 
he  started  for  the  cottage,  taking  with  him  the  Bible,  the 


IN    SIIANNOEDALE.  397 

photograph  and  the  letter  he  had  secreted  so  long.  All  the 
way  there  he  was  repeating  to  himself  the  form  of  speech 
with  which  he  should  commence,  but  when  Jcrrie  said  to 
him,  so  graciously,  "good-morning,  Uncle  Frank/'  the 
words  left  him,  and  he  began,  impetuously  : 

"  Don't  call  me  uncle.  Don't  speak  to  me,  Jcrrie, 
nntil  3*ou  have  heard  what  I  have  come  to  confess  on  my 
knees,  with  my  white  head  upon  the  floor,  if  you  will  it  so, 
and  that  would  not  half  express  the  shame  and  remorse 
with  which  I  stand  before  you  and  tell  you  I  am  a  cheat,  a 
liar,  a  villain,  and  have  been  since  the  day  when  I  first 
saw  you  and  that  dead  woman  we  thought  your  mother." 

Jerrie  was  dumb  with  surprise,  and  did  not  speak  or 
move  as  he  went  on  rapidly,  telling  her  the  whole,  with  no 
attempt  at  an  excuse  for  himself,  except  so  far  as  to  repeat 
what  lie  had  done  in  a  business  point  of  view,  making  pro- 
vision for  her  in  ca  e  of  his  death  and  enjoining  it  upon  his 
children  to  see  that  his  wishes  were  carried  out. 

••Here  is  the  Bible,"  he  said,  laying  the  book  in  her 
lap.  "  Here  is  the  photograph,  and  here  the  letter  which 
you  gave  me  to  post,  and  which,  had  it  been  sent,  might 
have  cleared  the  mystery  sooner." 

He  had  made  his  confession,  and  he  stood  before  her 
with  clasped  hands,  and  an  expression  upon  his  face  such 
as  a  criminal  might  wear  when  awaiting  the  jury's  decision. 
But  Jerrie  neither  looked  at  him  nor  spoke,  for  through  a 
rain  of  tears  she  was  gazing  upon  the  sweet  face,  sadder 
and  thinner  than  the  face  of  Gretchen  in  the  window,  but 
so  like  it  that  there  could  be  no  mistaking  it,  and  so  like 
to  the  face  which  had  haunted  her  so  often  and  seemed  so 
near  to  her. 

'•Mother,  mother!  I  remember  you  as  you  are  here, 
sick  and  sorry,  but  oh.  so  lovely  !"  she  said,  as  she  pressed 
her  lips  again  and  again  to  the  picture,  with  no  thought  or 
care  for  the  wretched  man  who  had  come  a  step  nearer  to 
her,  and  who  said,  at  last  : 

"Will  you  never  speak  to  me  Jerrie  ?  Never  tell  me 
how  much  you  despise  me  ?*' 

Then  she  looked  up  at  the  face  quivering  with  anguish 
and  entreaty,  and  the  sight  melted  her  at  once.  Indeed, 
as  h  had  talked  she  had  scarcely  felt  any  resentment  to- 
ward him,  for  she  Avas  sure  that  though  his  error  had  been 


398  WHAT    THEY    WERE    DOING 

great,  his  contrition  and  remorse  had  been  greater,  and  she 
thought  of  him  only  as  Maude's  father  and  the  man  who 
had  always  been  kind  to  her.  And  she  made  him  believe 
at  last  that  she  forgave  him  for  Maude's  sake,  if  not  for  his 
own. 

"Had  my  life  been  a  wretched  one  because  of  your  con- 
duct/' she  said,  "I  might  have  found  it  harder  to  forgive 
you,  but  it  has  not.  I  have  not  been  the  daughter  of 
Tracy  Park,  it  is  true,  but  I  have  been  the  petted  child  of 
the  cottage,  and  I  would  rather  have  lived  with  Harold  in 
poverty  all  these  years  than  to  have  been  rich  without  him. 
And  do  you  know,  I  think  it  was  noble  in  you  to  tell  me 
when  you  might  have  kept  it  to  yourself." 

"No,  no.  I  couldn't  have  done  that  much  longer,"  he 
exclaimed,  energetically,  as  he  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  room.  "  I  could  not  bear  it.  And  the  shadow  which 
for  years  has  been  with  me  night  and  day,  counseling  me 
for  bad,  was  growing  so  black,  and  huge,  and  unendurable, 
that  I  must  have  confessed  or  died.  But  it  is  gone  now, 
or  will  be  when  I  have  told  my  brother." 

"  Told  your  brother !  You  don't  mean  to  do  that  ?" 
Jerrie  exclaimed. 

"But  I  do  mean  to  do  it,"  Frank  replied,  "as  a  part  of 
my  punishment,  and  he  will  not  forgive  as  you  have  done. 
He  will  turn  me  out  at  once,  as  he  ought  to  do." 

Jerrie  thought  this  very  likely,  and  with  all  her  powers 
she  strove  to  dissuade  Frank  from  making  a  confession 
which  could  do  no  possible  good,  and  might  result  in 
untold  harm. 

"  Remember  Maude,"  she  said,  "  and  the  effect  this 
thing  would  have  upon  her  if  your  brother  should  resort  to 
immediate  and  violent  means,  as  he  might  in  his  first 
frenzy." 

"  But  I  mean  to  tell  Maude,  too,"  Frank  replied. 

Then  Jerrie  looked  upon  him  as  madder  than  Arthur 
himself,  and  talked  so  rapidly  and  argued  so  well  that  he 
consented  at  last  to  keep  his  own  counsel,  for  the  present 
at  least,  unless  the  shadow  still  haunted  him,  in  which  case 
he  must  tell  as  an  act  of  contrition  or  penance. 

"  He  will  think  the  photograph  came  with  the  other 
papers  in  the  bag,"  Jerrie  said,  as  she  again  kissed  the 
sweet  face,  which  looked  so  much  like  life  that  it  was  hard 


IN   SUANNONDALE.  899 

to  think  there  was  not  real  love  and  tenderness  in  the  eyes 
which  looked  into  hers  so  steadfastly. 

It  was  the  hardest  to  forgive  the  letter  hidden  so 
long,  and  Jorrie  did  feel  a  pang  of  resentment,  or 
something  like  it,  as  she  took  it  in  her  hand  and  thought 
of  the  day  when  Arthur  had  confided  it  to  her,  saying  he 
could  trust  her  when  he  could  not  another.  And  she  had 
trusted  Frank,  who  had  not  been  true  to  her  trust,  and 
here,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  was  the  letter,  with  its  singu- 
lar superscription  covering  the  whole  side,  and  its  seal 
unbroken.  But  she  would  break  it  now.  She  surely 
might  do  that,  if  Arthur  was  never  to  see  it ;  and,  after  a 
moment's  hesitancy,  she  opened  it  and  read,  first,  wild, 
crazy  sentences,  full  of  love  and  tenderness  for  the  little 
Gretchen  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  and  whom  the 
writer  sometimes  spoke  to  as  living,  and  again  as  dead. 
There  was  a  strong  desire  expressed  to  see  her,  a  wish  for 
her  to  come  and  get  her  diamonds  before  they  were  taken 
from  her  a  second  time.  Here  Jerrie  started  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise,  and  involuntarily  read  aloud  : 

"  The  most  exquisite  diamonds  you  ever  saw,  and  I  long 
to  see  them  on  you.  They  are  safe,  too — from  her — Mrs. 
Frank  Tracy — who  had  the  boldness  to  flaunt  them  in  my 
face  at  a  party  the  other  night.  How  she  came  by  them  I 
can't  guess ;  but  I  know  how  she  lost  them.  I  found  them 
on  her  dressing-table,  where  she  left  them  when  she  went 
to  breakfast,  and  took  possession  at  once.  That  was  no 
theft,  for  they  are  mine,  or  rather  yours,  and  are  waiting 
for  you  in  my  private  drawer,  where  no  one  has  ever  looked, 
except  a  young  girl  called  Jerrie,  who  interests  me  greatly, 
she  is  so  much  like  what  you  must  have  been  when  a  child. 
There  has  been  some  trouble  about  the  diamonds — I  hardly 
know  what,  my  head  is  in  such  a  buzzing  most  of  the  time 
that  everything  goes  from  me,  but  you.  Oh,  if  I  had 
remembered  you  years  ago  as  I  do  now — " 

Jerrie  could  read  no  further,  for  the  letter  dropped 
from  her  hands,  as  she  cried,  joyfully  : 

"  I  knew  he  had  them.  I  was  sure  of  it,  though  I  did 
not  know  where  they  were." 

Then  very  briefly  she  explained  to  Frank  that  on  the 
morning  when  the  diamonds  were  missed,  Arthur  was  so 
excited  because  Harold  had  been  in  a  way  accused,  that  he 


400  WHAT    TIIET     WEEE    DOING 

had  rambled  off  into  German,  and  said  things  which 
made  her  think  he  had  taken  them  himself  and  secreted 
them. 

"You  remember  my  sickness/'  she  said.,  "and  how 
strangely  I  talked  of  going  to  prison  as  an  accessory  or  a 
substitute  ?  Well,  it  was  for  your  brother  I  was  ready  to 
go  ;  and  when  he  told  me,  as  he  did  one  day,  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  diamonds,  I  was  never  more  astonished  in 
my  life ;  but  afterward,  as  I  grew  older,  I  believed  that  he 
had  forgotten  them,  as  he  did  other  things,  and  that  some 
time  he  would  remember  and  make  restitution.  I  am  glad 
we  know  where  they  are,  but  we  cannot  get  them  until  he 
returns.  When  do  you  think  that  will  be  ?" 

Frank  did  not  know.  It  would  depend,  he  said,  upon 
whether  he  was  in  San  Francisco  when  Tom's  telegram  was 
received.  If  he  were,  and  started  at  once,  traveling  day 
and  night,  he  would  be  home  in  a  week. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  to  wait  in  Jerrie's  state  of  mind, 
and  very,  very  short  to  the  repentant  man,  who  shrank 
from  his  brother's  return  as  from  an  impending  evil,  al- 
though it  was  a  relief  to  think  that  he  need  not  tell  him 
what  a  hypocrite  he  had  been. 

"  Thank  you,  Jerrie,"  he  said  at  last,  as  he  arose  to  go. 
"Thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to  me.  I  did  not  deserve 
it.  I  did  not  expect  it.  Heaven  bless  you.  I  am  glad  for 
you,  and  so  is  Maude.  Oh,  Jerrie,  Heaven  is  dealing  hard 
with  me  to  take  her  from  me,  and  yet  it  is  just.  I  sinned 
for  her  ;  sinned  to  see  her  in  the  place  I  was  sure  was 
yours,  for  I  knew  you  were  Arthur's  child,  and  I  meant  to 
go  to  Germany  some  day,  when  I  had  the  language  a  little 
better,  and  clear  it  up,  and  then  I  had  promised  myself  to 
tell  you.  Will  you  say  again  that  you  forgive  me  before  I 
go  back  to  Maude  ?" 

He  was  standing  before  her  with  his  white  head  dropped 
upon  his  hat,  the  very  picture  of  misery  and  remorse,  and 
Jerrie  laid  her  hand  upon  his  head,  and  said  : 

"  I  do  forgive  you,  Uncle  Frank,  fully  and  freely,  for 
Maude's  sake  if  no  other ;  and  if  she  lives  what  is  mine 
shall  be  hers.  Tell  her  so,  and  tell  her  I  am  coming  to  sec 
her  as  soon  as  I  am  able.  I  am  so  tired  and  sick  to-day, 
and  everything  is  so  strange.  Oh,  if  Harold  were  here." 

Jerrie  was  indeed  so  tired  and  exhausted  that  for  the 


JX    SHAttOXDALE.  401 

remainder  of  (ho  day  she  saw  no  one  but  Judge  St.  Claire 
and  Tom,  b  >th  of  whom  came  up  together,  the  latter  bring- 
ing the  answer  to  his  telegram,  and  asking  what  to  do 
next. 

"  Why,  Tom,''  Jerrie  said,  as  she  read  Arthur's  reply, 
"  'Pay  him  then,  for  I  shan't  come,'  what  does  he  mean  ? 
What  did  you  say  to  him,  and  whom  are  you  to  pay  ?" 

\Vi:  !i  a  half  comical  smile  Tom  replied,  "  I  told  him  the 
old  Xick  was  to  pay,  though  I  am  afraid  I  used  a  stronger 
name  for  his  Satanic  majesty  than  that.  I  guess  you'll  have 
to  try  what  you  can  do." 

And  so  Jerrie's  message,  "I  need  you,"  went  across 
the  continent,  and  brought  the  ready  response,  ''Coming 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind."  It  was  Judge  St.  Claire  who 
wrote  to  Harold,  for  Jerrie,  who  said  :  "  Tell  him  everything, 
and  how  much  I  Avant  him  here ;  and  tell  him,  too,  of 
Maude,  whose  life  hangs  ou  a  thread.  That  may  bring  him 
sooner.'' 

It  was  three  days  before  Jerrie  was  able  to  go  to  the' 
Park  House,  and  then  Tom  came  for  her,  saying  Maude 
wa<  failing  very  fast.  The  news  which  had  come  upon  her 
so  suddenly  with  regard  to  Jerrie's  birth  and  the  suspicions 
resting  upon  Harold  shortened  the  life  nearing  its  close, 
and  the^noment  Jerrie  entered  the  room  she  knew  the 
worst,  and  with  a  storm  of  sobs  and  tears  knelt  by  the  sick 
girl's  coach  and  cried  : 

"  Oh,  I  can't  bear  it.  I'd  give  up  everything  to  save 
you.  Oh,  Maude,  you  don't  know  how  much  1  love  you." 

Maude  was  very  calm,  though  her  lips  quivered  a  little 
and  the  tears  filled  her  eyes  as  she  put  her  hand  in  Jerrie's. 
.it  change  had  come  over  Maude  since  the  night  when 
she  heard  .IcrrieV  story — a  change  for  the  better  some  might 
have  thought,  although  the  physician  who  attended  her 
gave  no  hope.  She  neither  coughed  nor  suffered  pain,  and 
could  talk  all  she  liked,  although  often  in  a  whisper,  she 
was  so  very  weak. 

'•  Yes,  Jtrrie,"she  said,  "I  know  you  love  me,  and  it 
makes  me  very  glad,  and  dying  serin-  ra>icr,  for  I  know  you 
will  be  cared  for— Once,  when  I  first  thought  I  must 
die,  I  wrote  something  on  paper  for  father  and  uncle  Arthur 
•  when  I  was  dead,  and  it:  was  that  they  should  take 
you  in  my  place,  you  and  Harold." 


402  WHAT    THEY    WERE    DOING 

Maude's  voice  shook  a  little  here,  but  she  soon  steadied 
it  and  went  on  : 

"  I  wanted  them  to  give  you  what  I  thought  would  be 
mine  had  I  lived,  and  what  all  the  time  was  yours.  Oh, 
Jerrie,  how  can  you  help  hating  me,  who  have  stood  so  long 
where  you  ought  to  have  stood,  and  enjoyed  what  you 
ought  to  have  enjoyed  ?" 

"  Maude,"  Jerrie  cried,  "  don't  talk  like  that ;  as  if  I, 
or  any  one,  could  ever  have  hated  you.  Why,  I  worshiped 
you  as  some  little  empress  when  I  used  to  see  you  in  your 
bright  sashes  and  yellow  kid  boots,  with  the  amber  beads 
around  your  neck  ;  and  if  the  contrast  between  your  finery 
and  my  high-necked  gingham  apron  and  white  sun-bonnet 
sometimes  struck  me  painfully,  I  had  no  wish  to  take  the 
boots  and  sashes  from  you,  whom  they  fitted  so  admirably  ; 
and  as  we  grew  older  and  you  did  not  shrink  from  or  slight 
Jerrie  Crawford,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  great  was  the  love 
which  grew  in  my  heart  for  you,  the  dearest  girl  friend  I 
ever  had,  and  a  thousand  times  dearer  now  I  know  you 
are  my  cousin." 

Maude  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  asked, 
abruptly : 

"Jerrie,  why  did  you  never  fall  in  love  with  Harold  ?" 

"  Oh,  Maude  !"  and  Jerrie  started  as  if  Maude  had 
struck  her,  while  the  tell-tale  blood  rushed  to  her  face,  and 
into  her  eyes  there  came  a  look  which  even  Maude  could 
understand. 

"  Jerrie,"  she  exclaimed,  "  forgive  me.  I  didn't  know,  I 
never  guessed,  I  was  so  stupid ;  but  I  have  been  thinking 
so  much  since  Harold  went  away.  Does  he  know  about  you  ? 
who  you  are,  I  mean  ?  and  how  long  before  he  will  come 
home  ?" 

"  Judge  St.  Claire  wrote  him  everything  three  days 
ago,"  Jerrie  replied,  "and  told  him  how  sick  you  were. 
That  will  surely  bring  him  at  once,  if  it  is  possible  for  him 
to  leave  ;  but  it  will  be  three  or  four  days  now  before  the 
letter  will  reach  him,  and  it  will  take  a  week  for  him  to 
come.  Would  you  like  to  see  him  very  much  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Maude  answered,  "  but  I  never  shall.  Jerrie, 
did  Harold  ever — did  he — does  he — love  you  ?" 

"He  never  told  me  so,"  Jerrie  said,  frankly;  "but  I 
have  thought  that  he  loved  you," 


JN   SHANNONDALE.  403 

"N — no,"  Maude  answered,  piteously.  "It  was  alia 
mistake,  and  when  I  am  dead  and  Harold  comes,  promise 
to  tell  him  something  from  me,  will  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Jerrie  replied,  and  Maude  continued  : 

"  Tell  hio  the  very  first  time  you  and  he  are  alone  to- 
gether, and  speak  of  me,  that  I  have  been  thinking  and 
thinking  until  it  came  to  me  clear  as  day  that  it  was  all  a 
mistake,  a  stupid  blunder  on  my  part.  I  was  always  stupid, 
you  know  ;  but  I  believe  my  brain  is  clearer  now.  Will  you 
tell  him,  Jerrie  ?" 

"  Mistake  about  what  ?"  Jerrie  asked,  with  a  vague 
apprehension  that  the  task  imposed  upon  her  might  not  be 
a  pleasant  one  if  she  knew  all  it  involved. 

"Harold  will  tell  you  what,"  Maude  answered.  "He 
will  understand  what  1  mean,  but  I  shall  not  be  here  when 
he  comes.  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  hope  to  live  till  Uncle  Arthur 
comes,  for  I  must  see  him  and  ask  him  not  to  be  hard  on 
poor  father,  and  tell  him  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  been  so 
long  in  the  place  where  you  should  have  been.  You  will 
stay  here  and  be  with  me  to  the  last.  I  want  you  to 
hold  my  hand  when  I  say  good-by  forever.  You  are  so 
strong  that  I  shall  not  be  afraid  with  you  to  see  and  hear  as 
long  as  I  hear  and  see  anything." 

"And  are  you  afraid?"  Jerrie  asked,  and  Maude  re- 
plied : 

"  Of  the  death  struggle,  yes  ;  but  not  what  lies  beyond 
where  He  is,  the  Saviour,  for  I  know  I  am  going  to  Him  ; 
and  when  they  think  me  asleep  I  am  often  praying  silently 
for  more  faith  and  love,  and  for  you  all,  that  you  may  one 
day  come  where  I  soon  shall  be.  Heaven  is  very,  very 
beautiful,  for  I  have  seen  it  in  my  dreams — a  material 
heaven  some  would  say,  for  there  are  trees,  and  flowers,  and 
grass  ;  and  on  a  golden  bench,  beneath  a  tree  whose  leaves 
are  like  emeralds,  and  whose  blossoms  are  like  pearls,  I  am 
sitting,  on  the  bank  of  a  shining  river,  resting,  and  wait- 
ing, as  little  Pilgrim  waited  for  the  coming  of  the  Master, 
and  for  you  all." 

Maude  was  very  tired,  and  her  voice  was  so  low  that  Jer- 
rie could  scarcely  hear  it,  while  the  eyelids  drooped  heavily, 
and  in  a  few  moments  she  fell  asleep,  with  a  rapt  look  on 
her  face  as  if  she  were  already  resting  on  the  golden  seat 


404  TELLING    ARTHUR. 

beneath  the  tree  whose  leaves  were  emeralds  and  whose  blos- 
soms were  like  pearls. 

That  night  Jerrie  wrote  as  follows  : 

"DEAR  HAROLD:  Maude  is  very  low,  and,  unless  you  come 
soon,  you  will  never  see  her  again.  The  judge  has  written 
you  of  me,  but  I  must  toll  you  myself  that  nothing  can  ever 
change  me  from  the  Jerrie  of  old  ;  and  the  fact  which  makes 
me  the  happiest  is  that  now  I  can  help  you  who  have  been 
S'»  kind  to  me.  How  I  long  to  see  you  and  talk  it  all  over. 
We  expect  .Mr.  Arthur  in  a  few  days.  I  cannot  call  him 
father  yt  t,  until  he  has  himself  given  me  the  right  to  do  so 
by  calling  me  daughter  first ;  but  to  myself  I  am  calling 
Gretchen  mother  all  the  time,  my  darling  little  mother  ! 
Oh,  Harold,  you  must  come  home  and  share  my  happiness 
which  will  not  be  complete  till  you  are  here."  "  JERRIE/' 

During  the  next  few  days  Jerrie  staid  with  Maude  wait- 
ing anxiously  for  tidings  from  Arthur  until  one  lovely  Sep- 
tember morning,  a  telegram  was  brought  to  Frank  from 
Charles,  which  said  they  would  be  home  that  afternoon. 


CHAPTEE  XLIX. 

TELLING   ARTHUR. 

WHO  should  do  the  telling  was  the  question  which  for 
some  time  was  discussed  by  Frank  and  Judge  St. 
Claire  and  Jerrie.  Naturally  the  task  fell  upon  the  latter, 
who  went  over  and  over  again  in  her  mind  what  she  should 
say  and  how  she  should  commence. 

But  when  at  last  the  announcement  came  that  Arthur 
was  in  Albany,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  suddenly 
turned  into  stone,  for  every  thought  and  feeling  left  her, 
and  she  had  no  plan  of  action  or  speech  as  she  moved 
mechanically  about  Arthur's  rooms,  making  them  bright 
with  flowers,  especially  the  Gretchen  room,  which  was  a 
bower  of  beauty  when  her  skillful  hands  had  finished  it. 

Slowly  the  day  wore  on,  every  minute  seeming  an  hour, 
and  every  hour  a  day,  until  Jerrie  heard  the  carriage  drjv- 


TELLING    ARTHUR.  405 

ing  down  the  avenue,  and  not  long  after  the  whistle  of  the 
engine  in  the  distance.  Then,  bending  over  Maude  and 
kissing  her  fondly,  she  said  : 

"Pray  for  me,  darling,  I  am  going  to  meet  my  father/' 

Arthur  had  been  very  quiet  during  the  first  part  of  the 
journey  from  San  Francisco,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
Charles  could  get  a  word  from  him. 

'•Let  me  alone/'  he  said  once,  when  spoken  to.  "I  am 
with  Gretchen.  She  is  on  the  train  with  me,  and  I'm  try- 
ing to  make  out  what  it  is  she  is  telling  me." 

But  after  Albany  was  left  behind,  his  mood  changed 
and  he  became  as  wild  and  excitable  as  he  had  before  been 
abstracted  and  silent,  and  when  at  last  Shanuondale  was 
readied,  he  bounded  from  the  car  before  the  train  stopped, 
and  was  collaring  Rob,  the  coachman,  and  demanding  of 
him  what  was  the  matter  with  Jerrie  and  why  he  had  been 
sent  for.  Rob,  who  had  received  his  instructions  to  be 
wholly  non-committal,  answered  stolidly  that  nothing  was 
the  matter  with  Jerrie,  but  that  Miss  Maude  was  very  sick 
and  probably  would  not  live  many  days. 

'•  Is  that  all  ?"  Arthur  said,  gloomily,  as  he  entered  the 
carriage.  "  I  don't  see  what  the  old  Harry  has  to  do  with 
Maude's  dying,  and  certainly  Tom's  telegram  said  some- 
thing about  that  chap.  I  have  it  in  my  pocket.  Yes,  here 
it  is.  '  Come  immediately.  The  devil  is  to  pay.'  That 
doesn't  mean  Maude.  There  is  something  else  Rob  has  not 
told  me.  Here  you  rascal,  you  are  keeping  something  from 
me  !  What  is  it  ?  Out  with  it  ?"  he  shouted  to  the  driver, 
as  he  thrust  his  head  from  the  carriage  window,  where  he 
kept  it,  and  in  this  way  was  driven  to  the  door  of  the  Park 
House,  where  Frank  was  waiting  for  him  outside,  and 
where,  inside,  Jerrie  stood,  holding  fast  to  the  banister.-  <  t' 
the  stairs,  her  heart  throbbing  wildly  one  moment,  and  the 
next  seeming  to  lie  pulseless  as  a  piece  of  lead. 

She  heard  Arthur's  voice  as  he  came  up  the  steps,  speak- 
ir  g  to  Frank,  and  asking  why  he  had  been  sent  for  ;  and 
the  next  moment  she  saw  him  entering  the  hall,  tall  and 
erect,  but  with  the  wild  look  in  his  eyes  which  she  knew  so 
well,  but  which  changed  at  once  to  a  softer  expression  as 
they  fell  upon  her. 

"Cherry,  you  here  !"  he  cried,  as  he  spang  to  her  side 
and  kissed  her  forehead  and  lips,  while  Jerrie  could  scarcely 


406  TELLING-    AUTKUR. 

restrain  herself  from  falling  upon  his  neck  and  sobbing 
out,  "Oh,  my  father  !  I  am  your  daughter,  Jerrie  !"  But 
the  time  for  this  had  not  come,  and  when  he  questioned 
her  eagerly  as  to  why  she  had  sent  for  him,  she  only 
replied : 

"Maude  is  very  sick.  But  come  with  me  to  your 
rooms,  and  I  will  tell  you  everything/' 

"Then  there  is  something  to  pay;  I  thought  so/'  he 
said,  as  he  followed  her  up  stairs  into  the  Gretchen  room, 
where  he  stood  for  a  moment  amazed  at  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  flowers  and  vines  Avhich  Jerrie  had  arranged 
so  skillfully.  "It  is  like  Eden,"  he  said,  "and  Gretchen 
is  here  with  me.  Darling  Gretchen  ]"  he  continued,  as  he 
walked  up  to  the  picture  and  kissed  the  lovely  face  which, 
it  seemed  to  Jerrie,  smiled  in  benediction  upon  them  both, 
as  they  stood  there  side  by  side,  her  hands  resting  on  his 
shoulder,  which  she  pressed  hard,  as  if  to  steady  herself, 
while  he  talked  to  the  inanimate  face  before  him. 

"  Have  you  been  lonesome,  Gretchen,  and  are  you  glad 
to  have  me  back  again  ?  Poor  little  Gretchen  I"  And  now 
he  turned  to  Jerrie,  and  said  :  "  It  all  came  to  me  on  the 
top  of  those  mountains,  about  Gretchen — who  she  was,  and 
how  I  forgot  her  so  long — that  is  the  strangest  of  all ;  and, 
Cherry/'  here  his  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper,  "  I  know  for 
sure  that  Gretchen  is  dead — that  came  to  me,  too." 

"Yes,  Gretchen  is  dead,"  Jerrie  answered  him,  while 
her  hands  tightened  their  grasp  on  his  shoulder,  as  she  went 
on  :  "I  have  had  a  message  from  her,  and  that  is  why  we 
sent  for  you." 

Jerrie's  hands  were  not  strong  enough  to  hold  him  then, 
and,  wrenching  himself  from  her,  he  stood  confronting  her 
with  a  look  more  like  that  of  a  maniac  than  any  she  had 
seen  in  him  before,  and  which  might  have  frightened  one 
with  nerves  less  strong  than  her's.  But  she  was  not  afraid, 
and  a  strange  calmness  fell  upon  her,  now  that  she  had  ac- 
tually reached  a  point,  where  she  must  act,  and  her  eyes, 
which  looked  so  steadily  into  Arthur's,  held  them  fast,  even 
while  he  interrogated  her  rapidly. 

"  A  message  from  Gretchen  I  Where  is  it  ?  Give  it  to  me 
quick,  or  tell  me  about  it !  Where  is  she,  and  when  is  she 
coming  ?" 

"  Never  !"  Jerry  answered,  sadly.     "  I  told  you  she  was 


TELLING    ARTHUR.  407 

dead.  But  sit  here/*  and  she  motioned  him  to  a  large,  arm 
chair.  "Sit  here,  and  let  me  tell  you  what  I  know  of 
Gretchen." 

Something  in  the  girl's  manner  mastered  him  and  made 
him  a  child  in  her  hands. 

Sinking  into  the  chair,  pale  and  panting  with  excite- 
ment, he  leaned  his  head  back  wearily,  and  closing  his  eyes, 
said  to  her : 

"  Begin.     "What  did  Gretchen  write  ?" 

Jerri e  felt  that  she  could  not  stand  through  the  inter- 
view, and,  bringing  a  low  ottoman  to  Arthur's  side,  seated 
herself  upon  it  just  where  she  could  look  into  his  face  and 
detect  every  change  in  it. 

"Let  me  tell  you  of  Gretchen  as  she  was  when  you  first 
knew  her,"  she  said,  "and  then  you  will  be  better  able  to 
judge  of  the  truth  of  all  I  know." 

He  did  not  reply,  and  she  went  on  : 

"  Gretchen  was  very  young — sixteen  or  seventeen — 
when  you  first  saw  her  knitting  in  the  sunshine  under  the 
trees  in  Wiesbaden,  and  very  beautiful,  too — so  beautiful 
that  you  went  again  and  again  to  look  at  her  and  talk  to  her, 
until  you  came  to  love  her  very  much,  and  told  her  so  at 
last ;  but  you  seemed  so  much  above  her  that  she  could  not 
believe  you  at  first.  At  last,  however,  you  made  her  under- 
stand, and  when  her  mother  died  suddenly " 

"  Her  mother  was  Mrs.  Heinrich,  and  kept  a  kind  of 
fancy  store,"  Arthur  interposed,  as  if  anxious  that  nothing 
should  be  omitted. 

"Yes,  she  kept  a  fancy  store,"  Jerrie  rejoined  ;  "and 
when  she  died  suddenly  and  left  Gretchen  alone,  you  said 
to  her,  '  We  must  be  married  at  once,'  and  you  were,  in  the 
little  English  chapel,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Eaton,  who  was  then 
rector." 

Here  Arthur's  eyes  opened  wide  and  fixed  themselves 
wonderingly  upon  Jerrie,  as  he  said  : 

"  Are  you  the  old  Harry  that  you  know  all  this  ?  But 
go  on  ;  don't  stop  ;  it  all  comes  buck  to  me  so  plain  when  I 
hear  you  tell  it.  She  wore  a  straw  bonnet  trimmed  with 
blue,  and  a  white  dress,  but  took  it  off  directly  for  a  black 
one  because  her  mother  was  dead.  Did  she  tell  you  that  ?" 

"No,"  Jerrie  replied.  "She  told  me  nothing  of  the 
dress,  only  how  happy  she  was  with  you,  whom  she  loved 


408  TELLING    ARTHUR. 

so  much,  and  who  loved  her  and  made  her  so  happy  for  a 
time  that  earth  seemed  like  heaven  to  her,  and  then — 

II  ere  Jerrie  faltered  a  little,  but  Arthur's  sharp  ""What 
then  ?"  kept  her  up,  and  she  con'inued  : 

"  Then  something  came  to  you,  and  you  began  to  forget 
everything,  even  poor  little  Gretcben,  and  went  away  for 
weeks  and  left  her  very  sad  and  lonely,  not  knowing  where 
you  were;  and  then,  after  some  months,  you  went  away  and 
never  came  back  again  to  the  little  wife  who  waited,  and 
watched,  and  prayed,  and  wanted  you  so  badly." 

"  Oh,  Cherry  !  oh,  Gretchen  !  I'm  so  sorry  !  I  didn't 
mean  to  do  it  ;  I  surely  didn't.  May  God  forgive  me  for 
forgetting  the  little  wife  !  Was  it  long  ?  Was  it  months,  or 
was  it  years  ?  I  eau't  remember,  only  that  there  was  a 
Gretchen,  and  I  left  her,"  Arthur  said. 

"  It  was  years,  four  or  more  and — and — " — Jerrie's breath 
came  heavily  now,  for  she  was  nearing  the  point  relating  to 
herself  and  wondering  what  the  effect  would  be  upon  him. 
"  After  awhile  there  came  into  Gretchen's  life  the  dawning 
of  a  great  hope,  which  she  felt  would  make  you  glad,  and 
wishing  to  keep  it  a  secret  till  you  came  home,  she  only 
gave  you  a  hint  of  it.  She  wrote  :  "  I  have  something  to 
tell  you  which  will  make  you  as  happy  as  it  does  me— 

"  Stop  !"  and  Arthur  put  out  both  his  hands  as  if  grop- 
ing for  something  which  he  could  not  find  ;  then  he  said. 
"  Go  on,"  and  Jerrie  went  on,  slowly  now,  for  every  word 
was  an  effort,  and  spoken  so  low  that  Arthur  bent  forward 
to  listen  to  her. 

"  I  don't  know  just  where  Gretchen's  home  was  when 
she  lived  alone  waiting  for  you.  I  only  know  that  after 
awhile  there  came  to  it  a  little  baby — a  girl  baby- — Gret- 
chen's  and  yours " 

She  did  not  get  any  further,  for  with  a  bound  Arthur 
was  on  his  feet,  every  faculty  alert,  every  nerve  strung  to 
its  utmost  pitch,  and  every  muscle  of  his  face  quivering 
with  wild  excitement,  as  he  exclaimed  : 

"  A  baby  !  Gretchen's  baby  and  mine  !  A  little  girl  ! 
Oh,  Cherry,  if  you  are  deceiving  me  now  !" 

Jerrie  too,  had  risen,  and  was  standing  before  him  with 
her  hands  upon  his  arm  and  her  eyes,  so  like  Gretchen's, 
looking  into  his,  as  she  said  : 

"  I  am  not  deceiving  you.     There  was  a  baby  born  to 


TELLING    ARTHUR.  409 

you  and  Gretclion  some  time  in  January,  18 — ,  and  it  was 
christened  in  the  little  church  where  you  were  married,  by 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Eaton.  Oh,  Mr.  Arthur  how  can  I  tell  you  ; 
the  baby,  is  living  yet — grown  to  womanhood  now,  for  this 
happened  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  and  the  girl  is 
twenty  now,  and  is  waiting  and  longing  so  much  for  her 
father  to  recognize  and  claim  her.  Oh,  don't  you  under- 
stand me  ?  Look  at  me  and  then  at  Gretchen's  picture  !" 

For  an  instant  Arthur  stood  like  one  stricken  with  par- 
alysis, his  eyes  leaping  from  Jerrie's  face  to  Gretchen's,  and 
from  Gretchen's  b;ick  to  Jerrie's,  and  then,  with  a  motion 
of  his  hands  as  if  fanning  the  air  furiously,  he  gasped  : 

"  Twenty  years  ago — twenty  years  ago  ?  How  old  are 
you,  Cherry  ?" 

"Twenty,"  she  answered,  but  her  voice  was  a  whis- 
er,  and  her  head  fell  forward  a  little,  though  she  kept 
.er  eyes  upon  Arthur,  who  went  on  : 

"And  they  christened  my  baby  and  Gretchen's  you 
say  ?  What  name  did  they  give  her  ?  Speak  quick,  for  I 
believe  I  am  dying." 

"  They  called  her  Jerrine,  but  you  know  her  as  Jerrie, 
for — for  I  am  Gretchen's  daughter,"  Jerrie  said. 

With  a  wild,  glad  cry,  "  My  daughter  !  oh,  my  daugh- 
ter !  Thank  God  !  thank  God  I"  Arthur  sank  back  into 
the  chair  fainting  and  insensible. 

For  hours  he  lay  in  a  state  so  nearly  resembling  death 
that  but  for  the  physician's  reassurance  that  there  was  no 
danger,  Jerrie  would  have  believed  the  great  joy  given  her 
was  to  be  taken  from  her  at  once.  But  just  as  the  twilight 
shadows  began  to  gather  in  the  room  he  came  to  himself, 
waking  as  from  some  quiet  dream,  and  looking  around  him 
until  his  eyes  fell  upon  Jerrie  sitting  by  his  side  ;  then  over 
his  white  face  there  came  a  look  of  ineffable  joy  and  tender- 
ness and  love,  as  he  said,  with  a  smile  the  most  winning 
and  sweet  Jerrie  had  ever  seen  : 

"  My  daughter,  my  little  Cherry,  who  came  to  me  up 
the  ladder,  with  Gretchen's  eyes  and  Gretcheu's  voice,  and 
I  did  not  know  her — have  not  known  her  ail  these  years, 
although  she  has  so  puzzled  and  bewildered  me  at  times. 
My  daughter !  oh,  my  daughter  !" 

He  accepted  her  unquestioningly,  and  Jerrie  threw  her- 
self into  the  arms  he  stretched  toward  her,  and  on  her 

13 


410  TELLING    ARTHUR. 

father's  bosom  gave  vent  to  the  feelings  she  had  restrained 
so  long,  sobbing  passionately  as  she  felt  Arthur's  kisses 
upon  her  face,  and  his  caressing  hands  upon  her  hair,  as  he 
kept  repeating : 

' '  My  daughter  !     Gretchen's  baby  and  mine  I" 

"  There  is  more  to  tell.  I  have  not  heard  it  all,  or  how 
you  came  by  the  information,"  he  said,  when  Jerrie  was  a 
little  composed,  and  could  look  at  and  speak  to  him  with- 
out a  burst  of  tears. 

"  Yes,  there  is  much  more.  There  is  a  letter  for  you, 
with  those  you  wrote  to  her,"  Jerrie  said,  "  but  you  must 
not  have  them  to  night.  To-morrow  you  will  be  stronger, 
now  you  must  rest." 

She  spoke  like  one  with  authority,  and  he  did  just  what 
she  bade  him  do — took  the  food  she  brought  him,  went  to 
bed  when  she  said  he  must  go,  and,  with  her  hand  locked 
in  his,  fell  into  a  heavy  slumber,  which  lasted  all  through 
the  night,  and  late  into  the  next  merning.  It  almost  seem- 
ed as  if  he  would  never  waken,  the  sleep  was  so  like  death ; 
but  the  doctor  who  watched  him  carefully  quieted  Jerrie's 
fears  and  told  her  it  would  do  her  father  good,  and  that  in 
all  probability  he  would  awake  with  a  clearer  mind  than 
he  had  had  in  years,  for  as  a  great  and  sudden  shock  some- 
times produced  insanity,  so,  contrarywise,  it  sometimes  re- 
stored a  shattered  mind  to  its  equilibrium. 

And  the  doctor  was  partially  correct,  for  when  at  last 
Arthur  awoke  he  seemed  natural  and  bright,  with  a  recol- 
lection of  all  which  had  happened  the  day  before,  and  an 
earnest  desire  for  the  letters  and  the  rest  of  the  story, 
which  Jerrie  told  him,  with  her  arm  across  his  neck,  and 
her  cheek  laid  occasionally  against  his,  as  she  read  him  the 
luttcr  directed  to  his  friends,  and  then  showed  him  the 
certificate  of  her  birth  and  her  mother's  death. 

'"  Born,  January  1st,  18 — ,  to  Arthur  Tracy  and  Mar- 
guerite, his  wife,  a  daughter,"  Arthur  repeated,  again  and 
again,  and  as  often  as  he  did  so,  he  kissed  the  bright  face 
which  .smiled  at  him  through  tears,  for  there  was  almost  as 
much  sadness  as  joy  mingled  with  the  reading  of  that  mes- 
sage from  the  dead. 

Just  what  Gretchen's  letter  to  Arthur  contained  Jerrie 
nevei1  knew,  except  that  it  was  full  of  love  and  tenderness, 


TELLISG    ARTHUll.  411 

tfith  no  word  of  complaint  for  the  neglect  and  forgetfulness 
which  must  have  hastened  her  death. 

' •'  Oh,  Gretchen,  I  can't  bear  it,  I  can't,"  Arthur  moaned, 
as  he  laid  his  hand  upon  Jerrie's  shoulder  and  sobbed  like 
a  child.  '''To  think  I  could  forget  her,  and  she  so  sweet 
and  good." 

Everything  came  back  to  him  for  a  time,  and  he 
repeated  to  Jerrie  much  which  was  of  interest  to  her  con- 
cerning her  mother,  but  with  which  the  reader  has  noth- 
ing to  do  ;  while  Jerrie,  in  her  turn,  told  him  all  she  could 
remember  of  her  life  in  the  old  house  where  Gretchen  had 
died.  Then  she  asked  him  why  he  had  never  told  them 
that  she  was  his  wife.  "It  might  have  helped  to  clear  up 
the  mystery  with  regard  to  Mah-nee  and  myself/'  she  said, 
and  he  replied :  "  Yes,  yes,  it.  might,  and  1  don't  know 
why  I  didn't.  When  we  were  first  married  I  was  going  to 
write  Frank  about  it,  but  Gretchen  persuaded  me  not  to. 
She  had  an  idea  that  I  was  as  much  above  her  as  a  king  is 
above  his  subjects,  and  that  my  friends  would  be  very  angry 
with  me  and  perhaps  win  my  love  from  her.  I  think  this 
idea  so  strong  with  her  must  have  found  a  place 
in  my  maddened  brain  and  kept  me  from  telling 
Avho  she  was.  I  remember  having  a  feeling  that 
I  must  not  tell  until  she  came,  when  I  knew 
her  sweetness  and  beauty  would  disarm  all  prejudice  there 
might  exist  against  her.  I  was  sane  enough  always  to 
know  that  my  wife  would  not  be  acceptable  to  either  Frank 
or  Dully.  But  oh,  I  wish  I  had  told  them  the  truth  at 
once  !  Poor  Gretchen,  poor  Gretchen  !"  He  began  to  pace 
the  room  rapidly  and  to  beat  the  air  with  his  hands,  as  he 
always  did  when  roused  and  excited.  But  Jerrie  quieted 
him  at  la.4  and  then  gave  him  his  own  letters  addressed  to 
Gretchen  ;  but  at  these  he  barely  glanced,  muttering,  as  he 
did  so,  "  How  could  I  have  written  such  crazy  bosh  as 
that  ?"  and  then  suddenly  recollecting  himself,  he  asked 
for  the  photograph  mentioned  in  Gretchen's  letter  to  his 
friends,  and  which  he  seemed  to  think  had  come  with  the 
other  paper.-.  Taking  it  from  the  bag,  Jerrie  handed  it  to 
him.  while  his  tears  fell  like  rain  as  he  gazed  upon  the  face 
which  was  far  too  young  to  wear  the  sad,  wan  look  it  did. 

"That   is   as  I  remember  her,"  Jerrie   said,  referring 
again  to  the  strange  ideas  which  had  filled  her  brain  and 


412  TELLING    ARTHUR. 

made  her  sure  that  not  the  dark  woman  found  dead  at  her 
side  was  her  mother,  but  another  and  far  different  person, 
whose  face  haunted  her  so  continually  and  whose  voice  she 
sometimes  seemed  to  hear  speaking  to  her  from  the  dim 
shadows  of  the  far-off  past  when  they  lived  in  the  little 
house  in  Wiesbaden,  where  the  picture  hung  on  the  wall. 

Arthur  remembered  the  picture  well  and  when  it  was 
taken,  though  that,  too,  had  faded  from  his  mind  until 
Jerre  told  him  of  it. 

"  We  will  go  there  together,  Cherry,"  he  said,  "  and 
find  the  house  and  the  picture,  and  Gretchen's  grave,  and 
bring  them  home  with  us.  There  is  room  for  them  at 
Tracy  Park." 

He  was  beginning  to  talk  wildly  again,  but  Jerrie  suc- 
ceeded in  pacifying  him,  and  taking  up  the  box  of  dia- 
monds opened  ib  suddenly  and  held  it  before  his  eyes.  In 
reading  the  letters  he  had  not  Deemed  to  pay  any  attention 
to  the  diamonds,  but  when  Jerrie  said  to  him  :  "These 
were  mother's.  You  sent  them  to  her  from  England,"  he 
replied  :  "  Yes,  I  remember,  I  bought  them  in  Paris  with 
other  things — dresses,  I  think — for  her,"  while  into  his  face 
there  came  a  troubled  look  as  if  he  were  trying  to  think  of 
something. 

Jerrie,  who  could  read  him  so  well,  saw  the  look,  and, 
guessing  at  once  its  cause,  hastened  to  say  : 

"Father,  do  you  remember  that  you  gave  Mrs.  Tracy 
some  diamonds  like  these,  and  that  some  one  took  them 
from  her  ?  Try  and  think,"  she  continued,  as  she  saw  the 
troubled  look  deepen  and  the  fire  beginning  to  kindle  in 
his  eyes.  "  It  was  years  ago,  just  after  a  party  Mrs.  Tracy 
gave,  and  at  which  she  wore  them.  You  were  there  and 
thought  they  were  Gretchen's,  did  you  not?" 

"  Ye-cs,"  he  answered,  slowly,  "I  believe  I  did.  What 
did  I  do  with  them  ?  Do  you  know  ?" 

"  I  think  you  put  them  in  your  private  drawer.  Sup- 
pose you  look  and  see." 

"  Obedient  to  her  as  a  child,  Arthur  opened  his  private 
drawer,  bringing  out  one  thing  after  another,  all  memen- 
toes of  the  old  Grotchen  days,  and  finally  the  diamonds,  at 
which  he  looked  with  wonder  and  fear,  as  he  said  to  Jerrie  : 

"Did  I  take  them?  Will  they  call  it  a  steal?  I 
thought  they  were  Grctchen's.  I  remember  now." 


TELLING    ARTHUR.  413 

Jerrie  did  not  tell  him  then  of  the  trouble  the  secreting 
of  the  diamonds  had  brought  to  her  and  Harold,  but  she 
said  : 

"  No  one  will  think  it  a  steal,  and  Mrs.  Tracy  -will  be 
glad  to  get  her  jewels  back.  May  I  take  them  to  her 
now  ?  " 

"  Take  them  to  her  ? — no,"  Arthur  said,  decidedly. 
"She  has  another  set — I  bought  them  for  her,  and  she 
wears  them  all  day  long.  Ha,  ha  !  diamonds  in  the  morn- 
ing, with  a  cotton  gown  ;"  and  he  laughed  immoderately  at 
wluit  he  thought  Dolly's  bad  taste.  "  Take  them  to  her  ? 
No  !  They  are  yours." 

"  But  I  have  mother's,"  Jerrie  pleaded  ;  "and  I  cannot 
wear  two  sets." 

"  Yes,  you  can — one  to-day,  one  to-morrow.  I  mean 
you  shall  have  seven — one  for  every  day  in  the  week. 
What  has  Dolly  to  do  with  diamonds.  They  are  for  ladies, 
and  she  is  only  a  whitewashed  one." 

He  was  very  much  excited,  and  it  took  all  Jerrie's  tact 
to  soothe  and  quiet  him. 

"  Father,"  she  began,  and  he  stopped  at  once,  for  the 
sound  of  that  name  spoken  by  Jerrie  had  a  mighty  power 
over  him — "Father,  listen  to  me  a  moment." 

And  then  she  told  him  of  the  suspicions  cast  upon  Har- 
old, and  said : 

"  You  do  not  wish  him  to  suffer  any  more  ?" 

"  Harold  ?  The  boy  who  found  you  in  the  carpet-bag 
— Amy's  boy  !  No,  never  !  "Where  is  he  that  I  have  not 
seen  him  yet  ?  Does  he  know  you  are  my  daughter  ?" 

Jerrie  had  not  mentioned  Harold  before,  but  she  told 
her  father  now  where  he  was,  and  why  he  had  gone,  and 
that  she  had  written  him  to  come  home,  on  Maude's 
account,  if  on  no  other." 

"  Yes — Maude — I  remember  ;  but  Harold  did  not  care 
for  Maude.  Still,  he  had  better  come.  I  want  him  hero 
with  you  and  me  ;  and  you  must  stay  here  now  day  and 
night.  Select  any  room  you  please  ;  all  is  yours,  my 
daughter." 

"  But  I  cannot  leave  grandma,"  Jerrie  said. 

"  Let  her  come,  too,"  Arthur  replied.  "  There's  room 
for  her," 


414  TELLING    ARTHUR. 

"  N"o,"  Jorrie  persisted ;  "  that  would  not  be  best. 
Grand:na  could  not  live  with  Mrs.  Tracy." 

"  Then  let  Dolly  go  at  once.  I'll  give  the  order  now," 
and  Arthur  put  out  his  hand  to  the  bell-cord. 

But  Jerrie  stopped  him  instantly,  saying  to  him  : 

"  Remember  Maude.  While  she  lives  her  mother, 
must  stay  here." 

"Yes,  I  forgot  Maude.  I  have  not  seen  her  yet,"  Arthur 
replied,  subdued  at  once,  and  willing  that  Jerrie  should  take 
die  jewels  to  Dolly,  who  deserved  but  little  forbearance 
from  her. 

Up  to  the  very  last  Mrs.  Tracy  had,  unconsciously  per- 
haps, clung  to  a  shadowy  hope  that  Arthur  might  repudiate 
his  daughter  and  call  it  a  tfumped-up  affair  ;  but  when  she 
heard  how  joyfully  he  had  acknowledged  and  claimed  her, 
she  lost  all  hope,  and  her  face  wore  a  gloomy  expression 
when  Jerrie  entered  her  room,  and  told  her  in  a  few  words 
that  her  own  diamonds  had  been  found,  and  where  they  had 
been  secreted,  and  that  she  had  come  to  return  them. 

"  Then  your  father  was  the  thief,"  Dolly  said,  with  that 
rasping,  aggravating  tone  so  hard  to  hear  unmoved. 

"Call  him  what  you  please.  A  crazy  man  is  not  respon- 
sible for  his  acts,"  Jerrie  answered  calmly,  as  she  walked 
from  the  room,  leaving  Dolly  to  her  own  morbid  and  angry 
thoughts. 

Not  even  the  restored  diamonds  had  power  to  conciliate 
her. 

"I'll  never  wear  them,  because  she  has  some  like  them," 
she  said  to  herself ;  and  then  the  thought  came  to  her  that 
she  could  sell  them,  and  add  to  the  sum  which  her  husband 
had  invested  in  his  own  name. 

"Yes,  I'll  do  it,"  she  continued,  "  but  even  that  will 
hardly  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  for  Frank  is  growing 
more  and  more  imbecile  every  day,  and  Tom  is  good  for  no- 
thing. He'll  have  to  scratch  for  himself,  though,  I  can 
tell  him." 

Here  her  very  characteristic  soliloquy  was  brought  to 
an  end  by  a  faint  call,  which  had  the  power  to  drive  every 
other  thought  from  her  heart,  for  the  mother-love  was 
strong  even  with  her,  and  going  to  Maude,  she  asked  what 
she  wanted. 


TELLING    ARTHUR.  415 

"Uncle  Arthur,"  Maude  replied  ;  "I have  not  seen  him 
yet.  And  Jerrie,  too  ;  she  has  scarcely  been  here  to-day." 

Maude's  request  was  made  known  to  Arthur,  who,  t\vo 
or  three  hours  later,  went  to  her  room,  and  told  her  how 
sorry  he  was  to  find  her  so  sick,  and  that  he  hoped  she 
would  soon  be  better. 

Frank  was  with  Maude,  sitting  upon  the  side  of  her  bed, 
near  the  head,  with  his  arm  acro-s  her  pillow,  and  his  eyes 
fixed  anxiously  upon  her  as  she  held  her  conference  with  his 
brother. 

"  Xo,  uncle,"  she  said,  "I  shall  never  be  any  better  in 
this  world;  but,  pretty  soon,  I  shall  be  welLin  the  other. 
And  I  want  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  for  you  and  Jerrie,  and 
to  thank  you  for  your  kinkness  to  us  all  these  years,  when 
Jcrrie  should  have  been  here  in  our  pi  .ce." 

•  •  Yes.  yes,"  Arthur  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "  Only 
I  didn't  know.  If  I  had—" 

'•It  would  have  been  so  different,"  Maude  interrupted 
him.  "  I  know  that,  but  I  want  you  to  be  kind  to  poor 
father  still,  and  forgive  him,  he  is  so  sorry,  and — " 

"  Oh,  Maude,  Maude,"  came  like  a  groan  from  Frank, 
as  he  laid  his  hand  on  Maude's  lips,  while  Arthur  replied  : 

"  Forgive  him  for  what  ?  lie  couldn't  help  being  here. 
I  sent  for  him.  He  did  not  keep  Jerrie  from  her  rightful 
position  as  my  daughter.  If  he  had,  I  could  never  forgive 
him.  Why,  I  believe  I'd  kill  him,  or  any  other  one  who, 
knowing  that  Jerrie  was  my  daughter,  kept  it  from  me." 

lie  was  gesticulating  with  both  hands,  and  Jerrie,  who 
had  come  in  with  him,  took  hold  of  them  as  they  were 
swavinir  in  the  air  and  said  to  him  softly  : 

'••Father!" 

The  word  quieied  him,  and  with  a  gasp  his  mood  seemed 
to  change  at  once. 

•'  Maude  is  very  tired,"  Jerrie  went  on  ;  "perhaps  we'd 
better  go  now,  and  come  again  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  best,  child.  I'm  not  fond  of  sick 
rooms,  though  I  must  say  this  is  very  free  from  smcl  s," 
Arthur  replied  ;  then  stooping  down  he  kissed  Maude  and 
said  to  her  as  he  arose  to  go  : 

••Don't  worry  about  your  father;  he  is  my  brother, 
and  he  was  kind  to  Jt-rrie.  I  shan't  forget  that.  Come,  my 
daughter." 

And  putting  his  arm  around  Jerrie  he  left  the  room. 


416  THE    FLOWER    FADETH. 

CHAPTEE  L. 

THE  FLOWER  FADETH. 

IT  was  some  days  after  Arthur's  return  before  the  house- 
hold settled  down  into  any  thing  like  order  and  quiet  for 
Arthur  was  so  restless  and  so  happy,  and  so  anxious  for 
every  one  to  recognize  Jerrie  as  his  daughter — Miss  Tracy, 
he  called  her  when  presenting  her  to  the  people  who  had 
known  her  all  her  life — the  St.  Claires,  and  Athertons,  and 
Crosbys,  and  Warners — who  came  to  call  upon  and  congrat- 
ulate him.  Even  Peterkin  came  with  a  card  as  big  as  the 
back  of  Webster's  spelling  book,  and  himself  gotten  up  in 
a  dress  coat,  with  lavender  kids  on  his  burly  hands,  which 
nearly  crushed  Arthur's  as  he  expressed  himself  "tickleder 
than  he  ever  was  before  in  his  life." 

"And  to  think  I  was  the  means  on't,"  he  said,  "for  if 
I  hadn't  of  kicked  that  darned  old  table  into  slivers  when  I 
was  givin'  on't  to  Jerrie,  she'd  never  of  knowd  what  was  in 
that  dumbed  rat-hole.  I  was  a  little  too  upstrupulous,  I 
s'spose,  but  111  be  darned  if  she  didn't  square  up  to  me  like 
a  catamount,  till  my  hair  riz  right  up,  and  I  concluded  the 
Tramp  House  was  no  place  for  me.  But  I  respect  her  for 
it ;  yes,  I  do,  and  by  George,  old  chap,  I  congratulate  you 
with  my  whole  soul,  and  so  does  May  Jane,  and  so  does  Ann 
'Lizy,  and  so  does  Bill,  and  so  does  the  whole  coboodle 
on  us." 

This  was  Peterkin's  speech,  which  Arthur  received  more 
graciously  than  Jerrie,  who,  remembering  Harold,  could 
not  be  very  polite  to  the  man  who  had  injured  him  so 
deeply.  As  if  divining  her  thoughts,  Peterkin  turned  to 
her  and  said : 

"  Now,  one  word,  Miss  Tracy,  about  Hal.  I  hain't  one 
to  go  halves  in  any  thing,  and  I  was  meaner  to  him  than 
pussly ;  but  you'll  see  what  I'll  do.  I've  met  with  a  change. 
I  swow,  I  have,"  and  he  laid  his  lavender  kid  on  his  stom- 
ach. "  He  never  took  them  diamonds,  nor  May  Jane's  pin, 
nor  nothin',  and  I've  blaated  it  all  over  town  that  he  didn't, 
and  I've  got  a  kerridge  hired,  and  some  chaps,  and  a  brass 


THE    FLOWER    FADETH.  417 

baud,  and  a  percessioii,  and  when  Hal  comes,  there's  to  be 
an  oblation  to  the  depot,  with  the  bugle  a  playiu'  '  Hail  to 
the  Chief/  and  them  hired  chaps  a  histen'  him  inter  the 
kerridge,  with  the  star  spangled  banner  a  floatin'  over  it, 
and  a  drawin'  him  home  without  horses  !  What  do  you  think 
of  that  for  high  ?"  and  he  chuckled  merrily  as  he  repeated 
the  programme  he  had  prepared  for  Harold's  reception. 

Jerrie  shuddered,  mentally  hoping  that  Harold's  coming 
might  be  at  night,  and  unheralded,  so  as  to  save  him  from 
what  she  knew  would  fill  him  with  disgust. 

That  call  of  Peterkiu's  was  the  last  of  a  congratulatory 
nature  made  at  Tracy  Park  for  weeks,  for  the  shadow  of 
death  had  entered  the  grand  old  house,  the  doors  and  win- 
dows of  which  stood  wide  open,  one  lovely  September 
morning,  about  a  week  after  Arthur's  return.  But  there 
was  no  stir  or  sign  of  life,  except  in  the  upper  hall,  near 
the  door,  and  in  the  room  where  Maude  Tracy  was  dying. 
Jerrie  had  been  with  her  constantly  for  two  or  three  days, 
and  the  conversation  the  two  had  held  together  would  never 
be  forgotten.  Maude  was  very  peaceful  and  happy  and  sure 
of  the  home  beyond,  where  she  was  going,  and  very  lovely 
and  sweet  to  those  around  her,  thinking  of  everything,  and 
planning  everything,  even  whose  hands  were  to  lower  her 
into  the  grave. 

"Dick,  and  Fred,  and  Billy,  and  Harold,"  she  said  to 
Jerrie,  one  day.  "Something  tells  me  Harold  will  be  here 
in  time  for  that ;  and  if  he  is,  I  want  tho^e  four  to  put  me 
in  the  grave.  They  can  lift  me,  for  I  shall  not  be  very 
heavy,"  and,  with  a  smile,  she  held  up  her  wasted  arms  and 
hands,  not  as  large  now  as  a  child's.  "And,  Jerrie,"  she 
went  on,  "  I  want  the  grave  lined  with  boughs  from  our 
old  play  ing-place — the  four  pir.es,  you  know — and  many 
flowers,  for  I  shudder  at  the  thought  of  the  cold  earth 
which  would  chill  me  in  my  coffin.  So,  heap  the  grave  with 
flowers,  and  come  often  to  it,  and  think  lovingly  of  me, 
lying  there  alone.  I  am  thinking  so  much  of  that  poem 
Harold  read  to  me  long  ago  of  poor  little  Alice,  the  May 
queen,  who  said  she  should  hear  them  as  they  passed,  with 
their  feet  above  her  in  the  long  and  silent  grass.  Maybe 
the  dead  can't  do  that,  I  don't  know,  but  if  they  can,  I 
shall  listen  for  you,  and  be  glad  when  you  are  near  me, 
and  I  know  I  shall  wait  on  the  golden  seat  by  the  river. 
18* 


418  THE    FLOWER    FADETH. 

Remember  your  promise  to  tell  Harold  that  it  was  all  a 
mistake.  My  mind  gets  clearer  toward  the  end,  and  I  see 
things  differently  from  what  I  did  once,  and  I  know  how  I 
blundered.  You  will  tell  him  ?" 

Again  Jerrie  made  the  promise,  with  a  sinking  heart, 
not  knowing  to  what  it  bound  her  ;  and  as  Maude  was  be- 
coming tired,  she  bade  her  try  to  rest  while  she  sat  by  and 
watched  her. 

The  next  day,  at  the  same  hour,  when  the  balmy  Sep- 
tember air  was  everywhere,  and  the  mid-afternoon  sun  was 
filling  the  house  with  golden  light,  and  the  crickets'  chirp 
was  heard  in  the  long  grass,  and  the  robins  were  singing  in 
the  tree-tops,  another  scene  was  presented  in  the  sick  room, 
where  Frank  Tracy  knelt  at  his  dying  daughter's  side,  with 
his  face  bowed  on  his  hands,  while  her  fingers  played  feebly 
with  his  white  hair  as  she  spoke  to  Arthur,  who  had  just  come 
in.  They  had  told  him  she  was  dying  and  had  asked  for 
him,  and  with  his  nervous  horror  of  everything  painful  and 
exciting,  he  had  shrunk  from  the  ordeal ;  but  Jerrie's  will 
prevailed,  and  he  went  with  her  to  the  room,  where  Frank 
and  his  wife  and  Tom  were  waiting — Tom  standing,  with 
folded  arms,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  looking,  with  hot, 
dry  eyes,  into  the  face  on  the  pillow,  where  death  was  setting 
his  seal;  the  mother,  half  fainting  upon  the  lounge,  witli 
the  nurse  beside  her ;  and  Frank  oblivious  of  everything 
except  the  fact  that  Maude  was  dying. 

"  Kiss  me  good-by,  Unc!e  Arthur,"  she  said,  when  he 
came  in,  "and  come  this  side  where  father  is."  Then,  as 
he  went  round  and  stood  by  Frank,  she  reached  her  hand 
for  his,  and  putting  it  on  her  father's  head,  said  to  him  : 
"Forgive  him,  Uncle  Arthur;  he  is  so  sorry,  poor  father 
— the  dearest,  the  best  man  in  the  world.  It  was  for  me ; 
say  that  you  forgive  him." 

Only  Frank  and  one  other  knew  just  what  she  meant, 
although  a  sudden  suspicion  darted  through  Jerrie's  mind, 
and,  when  Arthur  looked  helplessly  at  her,  she  whispered 
to  him : 

"Never  mind  what  she  means — her  mind  may  be  wan- 
dering ;  but  say  that  you  forgive  him,  no  matter  what  it  is." 

Thus  adjured,  Arthur  said  to  the  grief-stricken  man, 
who  shook  like  an  aspen  : 

"I  know  of  nothing  to  forgive,  except  your  old  disbelief 


THE    FLOWER    FADETH.  419 

in  Gretchen,  and  deceiving  me  about  sending  the  carriage 
the  night  Jerrie  came ;  but  if  there  is  anything  else,  no 
matter  what  it  is,  I  do  forgive  you  freely." 

"Thanks,"  came  faintly  from  Maude,  who  whispered  : 

"  Remember  it  is  a  vow  made  at  my  death-bed." 

She  had  done  all  she  could,  this  little  girl,  whose  life 
had  been  so  short,  and  who,  as  she  once  said,  had  been 
capable  of  nothing  but  loving  and  being  loved ;  and  now, 
turning  her  dim  eyes  upon  Jerrie,  she  went  on  : 

"Remember  the  promise,  and  the  flowers,  and  the 
golden  seat  where  you  will  find  me  resting  by  the  river 
whose  shores  I  am  now  looking  upon,  for  I  am  almost  there, 
almost  to  the  golden  seat,  and  the  tree  whose  leaves  are  like 
emeralds,  and  where  the  grass  and  flowers  are  like  the  flow- 
ers and  grass  of  summer  jnst  after  a  rain.  I  am  glad  for 
you,  Jerri •?.  Good-by  ;  and  you,  dear  father,  good-by." 

That  was  the  last,  for  Maude  was  dead ;  and  the  ser- 
vants, who  had  been  standing  about  the  door,  stole  noise- 
lessly back  to  their  \\ork,  with  wet  eyes  and  a  sense  of  pain 
and  loss  in  their  hearts,  for  not  one  of  them  but  had  loved 
the  gentle  girl  now  gone  forever  from  their  midst. 

It  was  Jerrie  who  led  Frank  from  the  room  to  his  own, 
where  she  left  him  by  himself,  knowing  it  would  be  better 
so,  and  it  was  Arthur  who  took  Dolly  out,  for  Tom  had  dis- 
appeared, and  no  one  saw  him  again  until  the  next  day, 
when  he  came  down  to  breakfast,  with  a  worn,  haggard 
look  upon  his  face,  which  told  that  he  did  care,  though  his 
mother  thought  he  did  not,  and  taunted  him  with  his  in- 
difference. He  had  gone  directly  to  his  room  and  locked 
the  door,  and  smoked  and  smok'  d,  and  thought  and 
thought,  and  then,  when  it  was  dark,  he  had  stolen  out 
into  the  park  as  far  as  the  four  pines,  and  smoked,  and 
looked  up  at  the  stars  and  wondered  if  Maude  were  there 
with  Jack,  sitting  on  the  golden  seat  by  the  river.  Then, 
going  back  to  the  house  when  no  one  saw  him,  he  went  into 
the  room  where  Maude  was  lying,  and  looked  long  and  ear- 
nestly upon  her  white,  still  face,  and  wondered  in  a  vague 
kind  of  way  if  she  knew  he  was  there,  and  why  he  had 
never  thought  before  what  a  nice  kind  of  girl  she  was,  and 
why  he  had  not  made  more  of  her  as  her  brother. 

"Maude,"  he  whispered,  with  a  lump  in  his  throat,  "if 
you  can  hear  me,  I'd  like  to  tell  you  I  am  sorry  that  I  was 


420  THE    FLOWER     FADE1B. 

ever  mean  to  you,  and  I  guess  I  did  like  you  more  than  I 
supposed." 

Then  he  kissed  her  pale  forehead  and  went  to  his  room, 
where  he  smoked  the  night  through,  and  in  the  morning 
felt  as -if  he  had  lived  a  hundred  years  since  the  previous 
night,  and  wondered  how  he  should  get  through  the  day. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  it  might  be  the  proper  thing  to  see 
his  mother  ;  and  after  breakfast  he  went  to  her  room,  and 
was  received  by  her  with  a  burst  of  tears  and  reproaches  for 
his  indifference  and  lack  of  feeling  in  keeping  himself  away 
from  everybody,  us  if  it  were  nothing  to  him  that  Maude 
was  dead,  or  that  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do. 

"  Thunderation,  mother  !"  Tom  exclaimed,  "  would  you 
have  me  yell  and  scream,  and  make  a  fool  of  mysflf  ?  I 
sat  up  all  night  long,  which  was  more  than  you  did,  and 
I've  been  meditating  in  the  woods,  and  have  seen  Maude 
and  made  it  square  with  her.  What  more  can  I  do  ?" 

"You  can  see  to  things,"  Mrs.  Tracy  replied.  "Your 
father  is  all  broken  up  and  has  gone  to  bed,  and  it  is  not 
becoming  in  me  to  be  around.  Somebody  must  take  the 
helm." 

"And  somebody  has,"  Tom  answered  her.  "Uncle 
Arihur  is  master  of  ceremonies  now.  lie  is  running  the 
ranch,  and  running  it  well,  too." 

And  Tom  was  right,  for  Arthur  had  taken  the  helm, 
and  aided  and  abetted  by  Jerrie,  was  quietly  attending  to 
matters  and  arranging  for  the  funeral,  which  Dolly  said 
must  be  in  the  house, as  she  would  not  go  to  the  church  with 
a  gaping  crowd  to  stare  at  her.  So  it  was  to  take  plaee  at 
the  hou.se  on  Friday  afternoon,  and  Arthur  ordered  a  costly 
coffin  from  New  York,  and  nearly  a  car-load  of  flowers  and 
floral  designs,  for  Jerrie  had  explained  to  him  Maude's 
wishes  with  regard  to  her  grave,  which  they  lined  first  with 
the  freshest  of  the  boughs  from  the  four  pines,  filling  these 
again  with  flowers  up  to  the  very  top,  so  that  the  grave 
when  finished  seemed  like  one  mass  of  flowers,  in  which  it 
would  not  be  hard  to  lie. 

Dolly  had  objected  to  Billy  as  one  of  the  pall-bearers. 
He  was  too  short,  she  said,  and  not  at  all  in  harmony  with 
Dick,  and  Fred,  and  Paul  Crosby,  the  young  man  who,  in 
Harold's  absence,  had  been  asked  to  take  his  place.  But 


THE    FLOWER    FADETH.  421 

Arthur  overruled  her  with  the  words,  "  It  was  Maude's 
wish,"  and  Billy  kept  his  post. 

The  day  arrived,  and  the  hour,  and  the  people  came  in 
greater  crowds  than  they  hud  done  when  poor  Jack  was 
buried,  or  the  dark  woman,  Nannine,  with  only  Jerrie  as 
chief  mourner,  and  the  profession  was  the  longest  ever  seen 
in  Shannondale  ;  and  Dolly,  even  while  her  heart  was 
aching  with  bitter  pain,  felt  a  thrill  of  pride  that  so  many 
were  following  her  daughter  to  the  grave. 

Arrived  at  the  cemetery,  there  was  a  halt  for  the 
mourners  to  alight  and  the  bearers  to  take  the  coffin  from 
the  hearse — a  halt  longer  than  necessary,  it  seemed  to 
Jerrie,  who  did  not  see  the  young  man  making  his  way 
through  the  ranks  of  people  crowding  the  road,  and  strain- 
ing every  nerve  to  reach  the  hearse,  which  he  did  just  as 
the  bearers  were  taking  the  coffin  from  it. 

With  a  quick  movement  he  put  Paul  Crosby  aside,  say- 
ing, apologetically  : 

"  Excuse  me,  Paul.  I  must  carry  Maude  to  her  grave. 
She  wished  it." 

Even  then  Jerrie  did  not  see  him  or  dream  that  he  was 
there,  but  when  toward  the  close  of  the  service  she  took  a 
step  or  two  forward  to  look  into  the  grave  before  it  was 
filled  up,  and  he  put  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder  and  said, 
"Not  too  near,  Jerrie,"  she  started  suddenly,  with  a  sup- 
pressed cry,  and  turning,  saw  him  standing  by  her,  tall, 
and  erect,  and  self-possessed,  ns  he  faced  the  multitude, 
some  of  whom  had  suspected  him  of  crime,  but  all  of  whom 
were  ready  now  to  do  him  justice  and  bid  him  welcome 
home. 

"  Oh,  Harold,"  Jerrie  said,  as  she  grasped  his  arm,  "I 
am  so  glad  you  are  here.  I  wish  you  had  come  before." 

Harold  could  not  reply,  for  they  were  now  leaving  the 
spot,  and  many  gathered  around  him  ;  first  and  foremost 
Peterkin,  who  came  tramping  through  the  grass,  puffing 
like  an  engine,  and,  unmindful  of  the  time  or  place,  slap- 
ping him  upon  the  shoulder,  as  he  said  : 

"  Well,  my  boy,  glad  to  see  you  back,  'pon  my  soul,  I 
be  ;  but  you've  flustrated  all  my  plans.  I  was  meanin*  to 
give  you  an  oblation  ;  got  it  all  arranged,  and  you  spiled  it 
by  takiii'  us  onawares,  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  he  continued,  as  he  met  a  curious  look  iu 


422  UNDER    THE    PINES     WJTH    IIAEOLD. 

Harold's  eyes.  "I'm  a  blunderin'  cuss,  I  be.  I  didn't 
mean  nothin'.  I've  never  meant  no-thin'  and  if  I  hcv  I'm 
sorry  for  it." 

Harold  did  not  hoar  the  last,  for  he  was  handing  Jerrio 
into  the  carriage  with  her  father,  who  bade  him  enter,  too, 
saying  they  would  leave  him  at  the  cottage  where  he  wished 
to  go  as  soon  as  possible.  There  was  no  time  for  much  con- 
versation before  the  cottage  was  reached,  and  Harold 
alighted  at  the  gate,  and  no  allusion  whatever  was  made  to 
Jerrie's  changed  relations  until  Harold  stood  looking  at  her 
as  she  kept  her  seat  by  her  father,  and  made  no  sign  of  an 
intention  to  stop.  Then  he  said,  as  calmly  as  he  could : 

"Do  you  stay  at  the  Park  Honse  altogether  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  quickly.  "  I  have  been  there 
a  great  deal  with  Maude,  but  am  coming  home  to-night. 
I  could  not  leave  grandma  alone,  you  know." 

She  acknowledged  the  home  and  the  relationship  still, 
and  Harold's  face  flushed  with  a  look  of  pleasure,  which 
deepened  in  intensity  when  Arthur,  with  a  wave  of  the 
hand  habitual  to  him,  said  : 

"  I  must  keep  her  now  that  you  are  here  to  see  to  the 
grandmother,  but  will  let  you  have  her  to-night.  Come 
up  later,  if  you  like,  and  walk  home  with  her." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  do  so,"  Harold  said,  and 
then  the  carriage  drove  away,  while  he  went  in  to  his 
grandmother,  who  had  not  attended  the  funeral,  but  who 
knew  that  he  had  returned,  and  was  waiting  for  him. 


CHAPTEE   LI. 

UNDEK  THE  PINES  WITH  HAROLD. 

IT  seemed  to  Harold  that  it  had  been  a  thousand  years 
since  he  left  Shannondale,  so  much  had  come  into  and 
so  much  had  gone  out  of  his  life  since  he  said  good-by  to 
the  girl  he  loved  and  to  the  girl  who  loved  him.  One  was 
dead,  and  he  had  only  come  in  time  to  help  lay  her  in  her 
grave  ;  while  the  other,  was,  some  might  think,  farther  re- 


UNDER    TUB    PINES    'WITH   HAROLD.  423 

moved  from  him  than  death  itself  could  have  removed 
her. 

But  Harold  did  not  feel  so.  He  had  faith  in  Jerrie — 
that  she  would  not  change,  and  when  he  read  the  Judge's 
letter  in  the  privacy  of  his  room  at  the  Tacoma,  he  rejoiced 
with  an  exceeding  great  joy  that  her  home  and  birthright 
hud  been  so  strangely  restored.  He  never  doubted  the  story 
for  a  moment,  but  felt  rather  as  if  he  had  known  it  always, 
and  wondered  how  any  one  could  have  imagined  fora  moment 
that  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  Jerrie  was  the  child  of  the  dark, 
coarse  looking  woman  found  dead  beside  her.  "  I  am  so 
glad  for  Jerrie/'  he  ?aid,  without  a  thought  that  her  re- 
lations to  himself  would  in  any  way  be  changed. 

Once  when  she  had  told  him  of  the  fancies  which 
haunted  her  so  often,  lie  had  put  them  from  him  with  a 
fear  that,  were  they  true,  Jerrie  would  be  lost  to  him  for- 
ever. But  he  had  no  such  misgivings  now  ;  and  when 
Jerrie's  letter  came,  urging  his  return,  both  for  her  own 
sake  and  Maude's,  he  wrote  a  few  hurried  lines  telling  her 
how  glad  he  was  for  her,  and  of  his  intention  to  start  for 
the  East  as  soon  as  possible.  "  To-morrow,  perhaps/'  he 
wrote,  "in  which  case  I  may  be  there  before  this  letter 
reaches  you,  for  the  mails  are  sometimes  slow,  and  the 
Judge's  communication  was  overdue  three  or  four  days." 

Starting  the  second  day  after  his  letter,  Harold  trav- 
eled day  and  night,  while  something  seemed  beckoning  him 
on  ;  and  when,  between  St.  Paul  and  Chicago,  there  came 
a  detention  from  a  freight  car  off  the  track,  he  felt  that  he 
must  fly,  so  sure  was  he  that  he  was  wanted  and  anxiously 
looked  for  at  Tracy  Park,  where  at  that  very  time  Maude 
was  dying.  The  next  afternoon  he  left  Chicago,  and  with 
no  further  accident  reached  Shannondale  just  as  the  long 
procession  was  winding  its  way  to  the  cemetery. 

He  had  heard  from  an  acquaintance  in  Springfield  that 
Maude  AVUS  dead,  and  of  her  request  that  he  should  be  one 
of  the  pall-bearers,  together  with  Dick,  and  Fred,  and 
Billy.  "  And  I  will  do  it  yet,"  he  said,  with  a  throb  of 
pain,  as  he  thought  of  the  little  girl  who  had  died  believ- 
iat  he  loved  her.  Once  or  twice  he  had  resolved  to 
write  and  tell  her  as  carefully  as  possible  of  her  mistake, 
but  as  often  had  changed  his  mind,  thinking  to  wait  until 
she  was  better;  and  now  she  was  dead,  and  the  chance  for 


424  UNDER    THE    PINES    WITH   HAROLD. 

explanation  gone  forever ;  but  he  would,  if  possible,  car.-y 
out  the  wish  she  had  expressed  with  regard  to  himself. 

Striking  iuto  the  fields  from  the  station,  he  reached  the 
cemetery  in  time  to  take  his  place  by  Billy  ;  and  then  he 
looked  for  Jerrie,  and  felt  an  indefinable  thrill  when  he  saw 
her  on  her  father's  arm,  and  began  to  realize  that  she  was 
Jerrie  Tracy.  But  all  that  was  over  now;  he  had  talked 
with  her  face  to  face,  and  had  found  her  the  same  Jerrie 
he  had  always  known,  and  he  was  going  to  see  her  in  her 
o\vn  home  at  Tracy  Park — the  daughter  of  the  house,  the 
heiress  of  Arthur  Tracy,  and  of  more  than  two  millions,  it 
was  said — for,  despite  Frank's  extravagance,  all  of  which 
Arthur  had  met  without  a  protest,  his  money  had  accumu- 
lated rapidly,  so  that  he  was  a  much  richcT  man  now  than 
when  he  first  came  home  from  Europe. 

Harold  found  the  family  at  dinner,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tracy 
and  Tom  in  the  dining-room,  and  Arthur  and  Jerrie  in  the 
Gretchen  room,  to  which  he  was  taken  at  once. 

"  Come  in — come  in,  my  boy.  You  are  just  in  time  for 
dessert,"  Arthur  said,  rising  with  alacrity  and  going  for- 
ward to  meet  him  ;  while  Jerrie,  too,  arose  and  took  his 
hand,  and  made  him  sit  by  her,  and  questioned  him  of  his 
journey,  and  helped  him  to  the  fairest  peach  and  the  finest 
bunch  of  grapes,  and  felt  so  proud  of  him,  and  of  her 
father,  too,  as  they  talked  together  ;  and  Harold  showed  no 
sign  of  any  inequality,  even  if  he  felt  it,  which  he  did  not. 

"  A  fine  young  man,  with  the  best  of  manners,  and  car- 
ries himself  as  if  he  were  the  lord  high  chancllor,"  Arthur 
said,  when,  after  dinner,  Harold  left  them  to  pay  his 
respects  to  the  other  inmates  of  the  family,  whom  he  found 
just  leaving  the  dining-room. 

Dolly  bowed  to  him  coldly  at  first,  and  was  about  to 
pass  on,  when,  with  a  burst  of  tears,  she  offered  him  her 
hand,  and  said : 

"  Oh,  Harold,  why  didn't  you  come  before  ?  Maude 
wanted  to  see  you  so  badly." 

This  was  a  great  deal  for  Dolly,  and  Tom  stared  at  her 
in  amazement,  while  Harold  explained  that  he  had  come  as 
soon  as  he  possibly  could,  and  tried  to  say  something  of 
Maude,  but  could  not,  for  the  tears  which  choked  him. 
Frank  was  uufeignedly  glad  to  see  him,  and  told  him  so. 

"  Our  dear  little  girl  was  fond  of  you,  Hal.    I  am  sure 


UNDER    THE    PINES    WITH   HAROLD.  425 

she  was,  and  I  shall  always  like  you  for  that.  Heaven  bless 
you,  my  boy,"  he  said,  as  he  wrung  Harold's  hand  and  then 
hurried  away  after  his  wife,  leaving  Harold  alone  with 
Tom,  who,  awfully  afraid  he  should  break  down,  said, 
indifferently : 

"  Glad  to  see  you  Hal.  Wish  you  had  come  before 
Maude  died.  She  was  in  a  tearin'  way  to  see  you.  Have  a 
cigar  ?  Got  a  prime  lot  in  my  room.  Will  you  go  there  ?" 

Harold  was  in  no  mood  for  cigars,  and,  declining  Tom's 
offer,  sauntered  awhile  around  the  grounds,  where  he 
found  himself  constantly  expecting  to  find  the  dead  girl 
sitting  under  a  tree  waiting  for  him  with  the  light  whose 
meaning  lie  now  knew  kindling  in  her  beautiful  eyes  as  she 
bade  him  welcome.  He  was  glad  now  that  he  had  not 
written  and  told  her  of  her  mistake,  and  he  felt  in  his  heart 
a  greater  tenderness  for  the  Maude  dead  than  he  ever  could 
have  felt  for  the  Maude  living. 

It  was  beginning  to  grow  dark  when  he  returned  to  the 
house,  where  he  found  Jerrie  in  the  hall  ready  to  go  home. 
Arthur  was  at  her  side,  with  his  arm  thrown  lovingly  around 
her,  and  as  he  passed  her  over  to  Harold,  he  said  : 

"Make  the  most  of  her  to-night,  my  boy,  for  to-morrow 
she  comes  home  to  stay/' 

For  a  time  Harold  and  Jerrie  walked  on  in  silence,  but 
when  they  reached  the  four  pines,  Jerrie  halted  suddenly 
and  said  : 

"Let  us  sit  down,  Harold.  I  have  a  message  from 
Maude,  which  I  promised  to  deliver  the  first  time  we  were 
alone  together  after  you  came  home." 

Jerrie's  voice  trembled  a  little,  and  after  they  were 
seated  she  was  silent  until  Harold  said  to  her  : 

"You  were  going  to  tell  me  of  Maude;"  then  she 
started  and  replied  : 

"  Yes  ;  she  wanted  so  much  to  see  you  and  tell  you  her- 
self. I  don't  know  what  she  meant,  but  she  said  she  had 
made  a  mistake,  and  I  must  tell  you  so,  and  that  you  would 
understand  it.  She  had  been  thinking  and  thinking,  she 
said,  and  knew  it  was  a  stupid  blunder  of  hers  ;  that  was 
what  she  called  it — a  stupid  blunder ;  and  she  was  sorry  for 
you  that  she  had  made  it,  and  bade  me  say  so,  and  tell  you 
no  one  knew  but  herself  and  you.  Pear  little  Maude  !  I 
wish  she  had  not  died." 


420  UNDER    TILL    PINES    WITH   HAROLD. 

Jerrie  was  crying,  and  perhaps  thai  was  the  reason  sho 
did  not  mind  when  Harold  put  his  arm  around,  her  and 
drew  her  so  close  to  him  that  his  brown  hair  touched  her 
golden  curls,  while  the  pines  moaned  and  sighed  above 
them  for  a  moment,  and  then  grew  still,  as  if  listening  for 
what  Harold  would  say. 

"Yes,"  he  began  slowly,  " I  think  I  know  what  Maudo 
meant  by  the  mistake.  Did  she  say  I  must  tell  you  what 
it  was  ?" 

"  She  said  you  would  tell  me,  hue  perhaps  you'd  better 
not,"  Jerrie  replied. 

"Yes,  I  must  tell  you,"  ho  continued,  "as  a  prelimi- 
nary to  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  afterward,  and  what  I 
did  not  mean  to  say  quite  so  soon  ;  but  this  decides  me," 
and  he  drew  Jerrie  closer  to  him  as  he  went  on:  "Did 
you  ever  think  that  I  loved  Maude  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  so,"  was  Jerrie's  answer. 

"She  thought  so,  too,"  Harold  continued,  "and  it  was 
all  my  fault,  not  hers.  She  was  so  sweet  and  good,  and  so 
interested  in  you  and  all  I  wanted  to  do  for  you,  that  I  re- 
garded her  as  a  very  dear  friend,  nothing  more.  And 
because  I  looked  upon  her  this  way,  I  foolishly  went  to  her 
once  to  confess  my  love  for  another,  and  ask  if  she  thought 
I  had  a  chance  for  success.  I  must  have  bungled  strangely, 
for  she  mistook  my  meaning  and  thought  I  was  speaking  of 
herself,  and  in  away  she  accepted  me  ;  and  before  I  had  time 
to  explain,  her  mother  came  in  and  I  have  never  seen  her 
since.  That  is  what  Maude  meant.  She  saw  the  mistake 
and  wished  to  rectify  it  by  giving  me  the  chance  to  tell  you 
myself  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  then  and  dared  not." 

"  Jerrie  trembled  violently,  but    made  no  answer,  and 
Harold  went  on  : 

"  It  may  seem  strange  that  I,  who  used  to  be  so  much 
afraid  of  Jerrie  Crawford  that  I  dared  not  till  her  of  my 
love,  have  the  courage  to  do  it  now  that  she  is  Jerrie  Tracy, 
and  I  do  not  understand  it  myself.  Once,  when  you  told 
me  your  fancies  concerning  your  birth,  a  great  fear  took 
possession  of  me,  lest  I  should  lose  you,  if  they  were  true  ; 
but  when  I  heard  that  they  were  true,  I  felt  so  sure  of  you 
that  I  could  scarcely  wait  for  the  time  when  I  could  ask 
you,  as  I  now  do,  to  be  my  wife,  poor  as  I  am,  with  nothing 
but  love  to  give  you.  Will  you,  Jerrie  ?" 


"  FOR    BETTER,    FOR     WORSE."  427 

His  face  was  so  close  to  hers  now  that  her  hot  cheeks 
touched  his,  but  she  made  no  reply  for  a  moment,  and  then 
she  said  : 

"  Oh,  Harold,  it  seems  so  soon,  with  Maude  only  buried 
to-day.  What  shall  I  say  ?  What  ought  I  to  say  ?" 

""Shall  I  tell  you  ?"  he  answered.  "  Say  the  first  English 
word  you  ever  spoke,  and  which  I  taught  you.  Do  you 
remember  it  ?" 

"  Ess  r  came  involuntarily  from  Jerrie,  in  the  quick 
lisping  accent  of  her  babyhoood,  when  that  was  all  the 
English  she  could  master  ;  and  almost  before  it  had  escaped 
her,  Harold  smothered  it  with  the  kisses  he  pressed  upon 
her  lips  as  he  claimed  her  for  his  own. 

"  But,  Harold,"  she  tried  to  explain  between  his  kisses, 
"  I  meant  that  I  did  remember.  You  must  not — yon  must 
not  kiss  me  so  fast.  You  take  my  breath  away.  There  !  I 
won't  stand  it  any  longer.  I'm  going  straight  home  to  tell 
grandma  how  you  act  \" 

•'  And  so  am  I,"  Harold  said,  rising  as  she  did,  but 
keeping  his  arm  around  her  as  they  went  slowly  along  in 
the  soft  September  night,  with  the  stars,  which  were  shining 
for  the  first  time  on  Maude's  grave,  looking  down  upon  them, 
and  a  thought  of  Maude  in  their  hearts,  and  her  dear  name 
often  upon  their  lips,  as  they  talked  of  the  past,  trying  to 
recall  just  when  it  was  that  friendship  ceased  and  love  be- 
gan, and  deciding  finally  that  neither  knew  nor  cared  when 
it  was,  so  great  was  their  present  joy  and  anticipation  of 
the  future. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

"  FOR   BETTER,    FOR    WORSE." 

RANDM  A,  Jerrie  has  promised  to  be  my  wife  !"  Har- 
old  said  to  his  grandmother  that  night,  and  "  Father, 
I  have  promised  to  marry  Harold,"  Jerrie  said  to  Arthur  the 
next  morning  as  she  stood  before  him,  with  Harold's  hand 
in  hers,  and  a  look  in  her  face  something  like  what  Gret- 
chen's  had  worn  when  Arthur  first  called  her  his  wife. 


428  "  FOR    SETTER,    FOR     WORSE." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  I  knew  it  was  coming,  but  didn't  think 
it  would  be  quite  so  soon.  You  shock  my  nerves  dreadfully," 
Arthur  exclaimed,  springing  up  and  walking  two  or  tbreD 
times  across  the  room.  Then,  confronting  the  young  couple, 
he  said,  "Going  to  marry  Harold?  I  knew  you  would  all 
the  time.  Well,  he  will  do  as  well  as  any  one  to  look  after 
the  business.  Frank  is  no  good,  and  Colvin  is  too  old.  So, 
get  married  at  once,  within  a  week  if  you  like.  I'm  off  for 
Germany  next  month,  to  find  Gretchen's  grave,  and  the 
house,  and  the  picture,  and  everything,  and  as  I  shall  take 
you  with  me  I  shall  need  some  one  with  brains  to  look  after 
things  while  I  am  gone." 

"But  father,"  Jerrie  begun,  "if  I  go  to  Germany, 
Harold  will  go,  too,  and  if  he  stays  here,  I  shall  stay." 

Arthur  looked  at  her  inquiringly  a  moment,  and  then, 
as  he  began  to  understand,  replied  : 

"Ah,  yes,  I  see;  'where  thou  goest,  I  go,  and  where 
thou — and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  Well,  all  right ;  but  you 
must  be  married  here  in  your  father's  house,  and  soon  too. 
I'll  engage  passage  at  once  in  the  Germanic,  which  s;iils  the 
15th  of  October,  and  you  shall  be  married  the  10th.  That's 
three  weeks  from  to-day,  and  will  give  you  a  few  days  in 
New  York.  I'll  leave  Frank  here  till  we  return,  and  then 
he  must  go,  of  course,  and  the  new  mistress  step  in  with 
Mrs.  Crawford  to  superintend.  We  will  get  some  nice  man 
and  woman  to  stay  with  her  while  we  are  gone." 

He  had  settled  everything  rapidly,  but  Jerrie  had  some- 
thing to  say  upon  the  subject.  She  did  not  wish  to  come 
to  Tracy  Park  altogether  while  Mrs.  Tracy  was  there,  she 
said,  and  preferred  to  be  married  in  the  cottage,  the  only 
home  she  had  ever  known. 

"I  shall  stay  with  you  all  day,"  she  continued,  "but 
go  home  at  night." 

"  And  so  have  a  long  walk  with  Harold.  Yes,  I  see," 
Arthur  said,  laughingly,  but  assenting  finally  to  her  pro- 
posal. 

It  was  Jerrie  now  who  planned  everything,  with  Har- 
old's assistance,  and  who  broached  the  subject  of  Frank's 
future  to  her  father,  asking  what  provision  he  intended  to 
make  for  him  when  he  left  Tracy  Park. 

"  What  provision  ?"  Arthur  said.  "  I  guess  he  has 
made  provision  for  himself  all  these  years,  when  my  purse 


"FOR    BETTER,    FOR    WORSE."  429 

has  been  as  free  to  him  as  myself.  Colvin  tells  me  there 
has  been  an  awful  lot  of  money  spent  somewhere." 

"  Yes/'  Jerrie  replied,  "but  you  gave  him  permission 
lo  spend  it,  and  it  would  hardly  be  fair  now  to  leave  him 
with  little  or  nothing,  and  he  so  broken  down.  When 
Maude  thought  she  was  going  to  die,  and  before  she  knew 
who  I  was,  she  wrote  a  letter  for  her  father  and  you,  asking 
him  to  give  me  what  he  would  have  giren  her,  and  yon  to 
do  the  same.  So,  now,  I  want  you  to  give  Maude's  father 
what  you  would  have  given  me  for  Maude's  sake. " 

"  Bless  my  soul,  Jerrie  I"  Arthur  said.  "  What  a  beg- 
gar you  are  !  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  given  you  ; 
all  I  am  worth,  perhaps.  How  much  will  satisfy  you  for 
Frank  ?  Tell  me,  and  it  is  done." 

Jerrie  thought  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  would  not 
be  any  too  much,  nor  did  it  seem  so  to  Arthur,  who  placed 
but  little  value  upon  his  money,  and  Jerrie  was  deputed  to 
tell  her  uncle  what  provision  was  to  be  made  for  him,  and 
that,  if  he  wished,  he  was  to  remain  at  the  park  until  his 
brother's  return  from  Europe. 

Frank  was  not  in  his  own  room,  but  Mrs.  Tracy  was, 
and  to  her  Jerrie  first  communicated  the  intelligence  that 
she  was  to  be  married  and  go  with  her  father  to  Germany. 
The  look  which  the  highly  scandalized  lady  gave  her  was 
wonderful,  as  she  said  : 

"  Married  !  almost  before  the  crape  is  off  the  door,  or 
the  flowers  wilted  on  Maude's  grave !  Well,  that  shows 
how  little  we  are  missed  ;  and  I  am  not  surprised,  though 
I  think  Maude  would  be,  at  Harold,  certainly.  I  suppose 
you  know  there  was  something  between  them  ;  but  a  man 
will  do  anything  for  money.  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  hus- 
band." 

Jerrie  was  too  indignant  to  explain  anything,  and  Lur- 
ried off  in  quest  of  her  uncle,  whom  she  found  in  Maude's 
room,  where  he  spent  the  most  of  his  time,  walking  up  and 
down  and  examining  the  different  articles  which  had  be- 
longed to  his  daughter,  and  which,  at  his  request,  remained 
untouched  as  she  had  left  them.  Her  brushes,  her  comb, 
her  bottle  of  perfumery,  her  work-box,  her  Bible,  a  little 
half-finished  sketch,  and  the  soft  bed-slippers  she  had  worn 
when  she  died,  and  one  of  which  ho  held  in  his  hand  when 
Jerried  went  in  to  him. 


430  >  "FOR    SETTER,    FOR     WORSE." 

"  It  is  so  like  Maude,"  lie  said,  with  quivering  lips, 
"and  when  I  hold  it  in  my  hand  I  can  almost  hear  the  dear 
little  feet,  which  I  know  are  cold  and  dead,  coming  along 
the  hull  as  she  used  to  come,  and  will  never  come  again.  I 
think  I  should  like  to  die  here  in  this  room  and  go  where 
Maude  has  gone,  and  I  believe  I  should  go  there.  I  am 
sure  God  has  forgiven  me,  and  Maude  forgave  me,  too,  for 
I  told  her/' 

"  You  did  !     I  thought  so/'  Jerrie  said. 

"Yes,  I  had  to  tell  her,"  he  continued,  "and  I  am  glad 
I  did,  and  she  loved  me  just  the  same.  You  saw  her  die. 
You  heard  what  she  said  to  me.  She  must  have  believed 
in  me,  and  that  keeps  me  from  going  mad.  I  told  Dolly, 
too,  and  she  said  she'd  never  speak  to  me  again  as  long  as 
she  lived,  and  she  didn't  cither  until  last  night,  when  I  was 
alone  in  here,  crying  on  Maude's  bed ;  then  she  came  to 
me  and  called  me  Frank,  and  said  she  was  sorry  she  had 
been  so  hard,  and  asked  me  what  we  were  going  to  do.  I'm 
sure  I  don't  know;  do  you  ?" 

He  was  so  like  a  child  in  his  appeal  to  her,  that  Jerrie's 
tears  came  fast  as  s]ie  told  him  of  her  approaching  marriage 
and  what  her  father  intended  doing  for  him.  Then  Frank 
broke  down  entirely. 

"  I  don't  deserve  it,  and  I  know  I  owe  it  to  you,  whom. 
I  have  injured  so  much,"  he  said,  while  Jerrie  tried  to  com- 
fort him. 

"  I  must  go  back  now  to  father,"  she  said  at  last ;  and 
she  went  out  into  the  hall,  where  she  encountered  Tom  just 
coming  from  his  mother's  room. 

"  Hallo  !"  Tom  cried,  with  an  attempt  at  a  smile;  "and 
so  you  are  going  to  marry  Harold  ?" 

"  Yes,  Tom  ;  I'm  going  to  marry  Harold,"  Jerrie  replied, 
unhesitatingly,  as  she  laid  her  Hand  on  Tom's  arm  and 
walked  with  him  down  the  stairs. 

It  seemed  to  her  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
that  she  should  marry  Harold,  and  she  was  not  at  all  abashed 
in  speaking  of  it  to  Tom  ;  and  when  they  saw  Harold  com- 
ing up  the  walk,  the  color  rushed  to  her  cheeks,  and  her 
eyes  grew  wondrously  bright  with  the  love-light  which 
shone  in  them,  as  she  dropped  Tom's  arm  and  hurried  to 
Harold's  side. 

"  By  George,  I  b'lieve  I'll  go  and  hang  myself  !"  Tom 


"FOR    BETTER,    FOR     WORSE."  431 

said,  under  his  breath,  as  he  stalked  moodily  away  ;  but 
instead  of  that  he  went  across  the  fields  to  Le  Bateau, 
where  he  sat  for  an  hour,  talking  with  old  Peterkin  and 
waiting  for  Ann  Eliza,  who  had  gone  to  Springfield,  her 
father  said,  after  a  new  gown,  for  which  he  was  to  pay  two 
hundred  dollars. 

"  Think  on't !"  he  continued.  ' '  When  we  was  fust 
married  and  run  the  '"Liza,  Ann,  the  best  gown  May  Jane 
had  to  her  back  was  a  mercener  or  balzarine — dumined  if  I 
know  \vhat  you  call  it — at  one  and  ninepence  a  yard  ;  but 
now,  lord  land,  what's  a  two  hundred  dollar  gownd  to  me  ! 
Ann  Eliza  can  have  forty  on  'em,  if  she  wants  to.  There 
she  is ;  there's  the  kerridge  !  By  gosh,  though,  ain't  ehe  a 
neat  little  filly  \"  and  the  father's  face  glowed  with  pride  as 
lie  watched  his  daughter  alighting  from  the  carriage,  to 
which  Tom  had  hastened  in  order  to  assist  her,  for  she  was 
still  a  little  lame  and  limped  as  she  walked. 

He  saw  the  two  hundred  dollar  gown,  for  Peterkin  would 
have  it  displayed,  and  admired  it,  of  course,  and  wL-hed 
that  he  had  half  the  sum  it  cost  in  his  own  right,  and  won- 
dered if  he  could  stand  it,  as  he  walked  slowly  home,  where 
he  heard  from  his  mother  that  they  were  still  to  remain  at 
Tracy  Park  fur  a  while,  and  that  his  father  was  to  have  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  settled  upon  him. 

"  I  guess  now  I'll  wait  a  spell,  and  let  old  Peterkin  go 
to  thunder,"  he  decided,  and  for  two  weeks  and  more  Ann 
Eliza  watched  in  vain  for  his  coming,  while  Peterkin  re- 
marked to  his  wife  that  if  Tom  Tracy  was  goin'  to  play  fast 
and  loose  with  his  gal,  he'd  find  himself  brought  up  standin' 
mighty  lively. 

The  news  that  Harold  and  Jerrie  were  soon  to  be  mar- 
ried, and  go  with  Arthur  to  Germany,  created  some  surprise 
and  some  talk,  t»o,  in  town,  where  many  of  the  people  had 
believid  that,  there  had  been  an  understanding,  if  not  an 
engagement,  between  Harold  and  Maude.  But  Tom  put 
that  light  with  a  few  decided  words.  There  had  never 
been  an  engagement,  he  said.  Maude  had  liked  Harold 
very  much,  and  he  had  liked  her,  but  had  always  preferred 
Jerrie  ;  in  short,  matters  had  been  as  good  as  settled 
between  them  long  ago. 

This  last  was  a  little  fiction  of  Tom's  brain,  but  the 
people  accepted  it  as  true,  arid  began  to  look  eagerly  for- 


432  "FOR    BETTER,    FOR     WORSE." 

ward  to  the  approaching  marriage,  which  took  place  in 
Mrs.  Crawford's  parlor,  with  only  a  few  intimate  friends 
present — Grace  Atherton,  the  St.  Claires,  Ann  Eliza  Peter- 
kin,  and  the  Tracys,  with  the  exception  of  Dolly,  who 
could  not  do  so  great  violence  to  her  feelings  as  to  attend 
a  wedding.  Billy  was  not  there,  but  he  sent  a  magnificent 
emerald  ring  to  Jerrie,  with  the  following  note  : 

"  DEAR  JERRIE:  I  can't  see  you  married,  although  I  am 
glad  for  you,  and  glad  for  Hal.  God  bless  you  both.  I 
shall  never  forget  you  as  long  as  I  live  ;  and  when  you  come 
back,  maybe  I  can  bear  to  see  you  as  Hal's  wife,  but  now 
it  would  kill  me.  Good-by." 

Jerrie  read  this  note  with  wet  eyes,  and  then  passed  it 
to  Harold,  to  whom  she  told  of  that  episode  under  the 
butternut  tree,  when  Billy  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  • 

"  I  am  awful  sorry  for  him,  but  I  can't  let  him  have 
you,  Jerrie,"  Harold  said,  passing  the  note  back  to  her, 
and  kissing  her  tenderly,  as  he  added  :  "  That  is  my  last 
for  Jerry  Tracy,  my  little  girl  of  the  carpet-bag.  When  I 
kiss  you  again,  you  will  be  my  wife." 

"  Come  children,  we  are  waiting,"  came  with  startling 
distinctness  from  Arthur  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  then 
Harold  and  Jerrie  went  down  to  the  parlor,  where  they 
were  soon  made  one,  Arthur  giving  the  bride  away,  and 
behaving  pretty  well  under  the  circumstances. 

He  had  been  very  flighty  the  day  before,  insisting  that 
Jerrie  should  be  married  in  white,  with  a  blue  ribbon  on 
her  bonnet,  just  as  Gretchen  had  been,  and  when  she  re- 
minded him  of  Maude's  recent  death,  he  replied  : 

"Well,  Gretchen  will  wear  colors  if  you  don't."  And 
he  brought  out  and  laid  upon  his  bed  the  dress,  which  had 
been  waiting  for  Gretchon  on  that  stormy  night  when  he 
heard  the  wild  cry  of  the  dying  woman  above  the  wintry 
gale.  She  was  with  him  again  in  fancy,  and  when  he  went 
out  to  the  carriage  which  was  to  take  him  to  the  cottage,  he 
stepped  back  and  stood  a  moment  by  the  door  as  if  to  let 
some  one  enter  before  him,  and  during  the  ceremony  those 
nearest  to  him  heard  him  whispering  to  himself,  "  I, 
Arthur,  take  thee,  Gretchen,"  and  so  forth  ;  but  when  it 
was  over  he  seemed  perfectly  rational,  as  he  kissed  his 
daughter  and  shook  hands  with  his  son-in-law,  to  whom  he 


"FOE    BETTER,    FOR     WORSE."  433 

gave  a  check  for  ten  thousand  dollars,  saying  as  he  did  so 
that  young  men  must  have  a  little  spending  money. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  wedding,  and  every  one  seemed 
happy,  even  to  Dick,  whose  spirits,  however,  were  rather 
too  gay  to  be  quite  natural,  and  whose  voice  shook  a  little 
as  he  called  Jerrie  Mrs.  Hastings  and  told  her  he  hoped  to 
see  her  in  Paris  in  the  spring  as  he  thought  of  going  over 
there  with  Nina  to  join  the  Eaymonds. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  will !  Nothing  could  make  me  so 
happy  as  to  meet  you  there,"  Jerrie  said,  looking  at  him 
with  an  expression  which  told  him  she  was  thinking  of  the 
pines  and  was  sorry  for  him. 

The  newly  married  pair  were  going  directly  to  New 
York,  where  Arthur  was  to  join  them  on  the  14th,  as  the 
Germanic  sailed  the  15th. 

All  the  wedding  guests  accompanied  them  to  the 
station,  Tom  accepting  a  seat  in  the  coupe  with  Ann  Eliza, 
who  wore  her  two  hundred  dollar  gown,  and  was,  of  course, 
overdressed.  But  Tom  did  not  think  much  about  that.  He 
was  ill  at  ease  that  morning,  though  trying  to  seem  natural ; 
and  when  the  train  which  took  Jerrie  away  disappeared 
from  view,  he  felt  as  if  every  thing  which  had  made  life  des- 
irable had  left  him  forever,  and  he  cared  but  little  now 
what  he  did,  or  with  whom  his  lot  was  cast. 

So  when  Ann  Eliza  said  to  him,  "  It  is  such  a  fine  day ; 
suppose  we  drive  along  the  river ;  it  may  dispel  the  blues," 
he  assented,  and  soon  found  himself  bowling  along  the 
smooth  turnpike  with  Ann  Eliza,  whom  he  thought  rather 
interesting,  with  the  tears  shed  for  Jerrie  on  her  long,  light 
eyelashes. 

"  I  shall  miss  her  so  much,  and  be  so  lonely  without 
her.  I  hope  you'll  call  often,"  she  said  to  him,  when  at 
last  the  drive  was  over,  and  Tom  promised  that  he  would, 
and  kept  his  promise,  too  ;  for  after  Arthur  left,  he  found 
Tracy  Park  so  insupportably  dull,  with  his  father  always 
in  Maude's  room,  and  his  mother  always  in  tears,  that  it 
was  a  relief  to  go  to  Le  Bateau  and  be  made  much  of  as  if 
he  were  a  prince,  and  treated  to  nice  little  lunches  and 
suppers,  even  if  old  Peterkin  did  make  one  of  the  party 
and  disgust  him  so  at  times  that  he  felt  as  if  he  must 
snatch  up  his  hat  and  fly. 

And  one  night,  when  the  old  man  had  been  more  than 
19 


434  "  FOR    BETTER,    FOR     WORB&." 

usually  disagreeable  and  pompous,  lie  did  start  up  abruptly 
and  leave  the  house,  mentally  vowing  never  to  enter  it 
again. 

"I'd  rather  saw  wood  than  listen  to  that  infernal  old 
brag/'  he  was  saying  to  himself,  when  he  heard  a  wheezy 
sound  behind  him,  and  looking  around  saw  the  old  brag  in 
full  pursuit^  and  beckoning  him  to  stop. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  walk  a  spell  with  you,"  he  said,  locking 
his  arm  in  Tom's  as  he  came  up.  "  I  want  to  have  a  talk." 

"  Yes,"  Tom  faltered,  with  a  dreadful  sinking  of  the 
heart,  while  Peterkin  went  on  : 

"  You  see  you've  been  a  comin'  to  Lubbertoo  off  and  on 
for  mighty  nigh  a  month,  and  as  the  parent  of  a  family  it's 
time  I  as't  your  intentions." 

"  Intentions  !"  Tom  stammered,  trying  to  draw  his  arm 
from  Peterkin's. 

But  he  might  as  well  have  tried  to  wrench  it  from  a 
vise,  for  Peterkin  held  it  fast  and  went  on  : 

"  Yes,  intentions  !  Thundcration,  hain't  a  chap  'sposed 
to  have  intentions  when  he  hangs  round  a  gal  who  has 
money,  like  my  Ann  'Liza  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Thomas/' 
and  his  manner  became  very  insinuating  and  frank,  "  as 
nigh  as  I  can  calkerlate  I'm  worth  three  millions,  fair  and 
square,  and  there's  three  on  'em  to  divide  it  amongst — May 
Jane,  Bill,  and  Ann  'Liza.  Now,  s'posin'  we  say,  threes 
into  three  million,  don't  it  leave  a  million  ?" 

Tom  acknowledged  that  it  did,  and  Peterkin  continued  : 

"  Jess  so.  Now  I  aint  one  of  them  mean  skunks  that 
wants  his  folks  to  wait  till  he's  dead  afore  they  enjoys  them- 
selves ;  and  the  day  my  Ann  'Liza  is  married,  I  plank 
down  a  million  in  hard  cash  for  her  and  her  husband  to  do 
what  they  darned  please  with  ;  cut  a  dash  in  Europe  as  Hal 
is  doin',  if  they  like,  or  cut  a  splurge  to  hum,  it's  all  one  to 
me.  I  call  that  square,  don't  you  ? 

Tom  admitted  that  he  did,  and  Peterkin  went  on  : 

"  Now,  then,  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  have  Ann  'Liza's  affections 
trifled  with,  and  if  I  catch  a  feller  a  doin'  on't  d'ye  know 
what  I'll  do  ?" 

Tom  could  not  guess,  and  Peterkin  continued  : 

"  I'll  lick  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  and  then  set 
the  dogs  on  him,  and  heave  him  inter  the  river  !  See  ?" 

It  was  not  a  warm  day,  but  Tom  was  perspiring  at  every 


« FOH    MTTF.U,    FOR    WORSE."  435 

pore  ashc  sa\v  presented  to  him  the  choice  between  a  million 
or  to  be  "licked  within  an  incli  of  his  life  and  then  dogged 
into  the  river."  Naturally  he  chose  the  first  as  the  lesser 
evil  of  the  two,  and  began  to  lie  as  lie  had  never  lied  in  his 
life  before.  He  was  very  glad,  lie  said,  that  Pcterkin  had 
broached  the  subject,  as  it  made  matters  easier  for  him  by 
showing  him  that  his  suit  would  not  be  rejected,  as  lie  had 
feared  it  might  be. 

"Yon  know,  of  course,  Mr.  Peterkin,"  he  said,  "that 
I  am  now  a  poor  young  man,  with  no  expectations  whatever, 
for  though  Uncle  Arthur  has  settled  something  upon  father, 
I  cannot  depend  upon  that,  and  how  could  I  dare  to  look  as 
high  as  your  daughter  without  some  encouragement  ?" 

"Encouragement,  boy  ?  Great  Scott!"  and  releasing 
Tom's  arm,  Peterkin  hit  him  a  friendly  slap,  which  nearly 
knocked  him  down.  "  Great  Scott !  "What  do  you  call 
encouragement  ?  When  a  gal  is  so  trustified  at  seein' 
you,  that  she  teters  right  up  and  down,  while  her  mother 
hunts  heaven  and  earth  for  tit-bits  to  tickle  your  pal- 
ate with — quail  on  toast,  mushrooms,  sweet  breads,  and 
the  Lord  knows  what — ain't  that  a  sign  they  are  willin'  ? 
Thunder  and  guns  !  what  would  you  have  ?  Ann  'Liza 
can't  up  and  say,  '  Marry  me,  Tom  ;'  nor  I  can't  up  and 
say,  '  Thomas,  marry  my  daughter,'  can  I  ?  But  if  you 
want  to  marry  her,  say  so  like  a  man,  and  I  swan  I'll  meet 
you  like  a  man,  and  a  father  \" 

Alas  for  Tom  !  he  had  nothing  left  him  to  do  except  to 
say  that  lie  wished  to  marry  Ann  Eliza,  and  that  he  would 
come  the  next  evening  and  tell  her  so. 

It  was  Peterkin  who  answered  his  ring  when  he  pro 
sen  ted  himself  at  the  door  of  Le  Bateau,  Peterkin  more  in- 
flated and  pompous  than  ever  as  he  shook  the  young  man'$> 
hand,  calling  him  Thomas,  and  telling  him  to  go  right  into 
the  parlor,  where  he  would  find  Ann  'Liza  waitin'  for  him. 
and  where  they  could  bill  and  coo  as  much  as  they  liked, 
for  he  and  May  Jane  would  keep  out  of  the  way  and  giv? 
'em  a  chance. 

Even  then  Tom  cast  one  despairing  glance  toward  the 
door,  with  a  half  resolve  to  bolt ;  but  Peterkin  was  behind 
him,  pushing  him  on  to  his  fate,  which,  after  all.  was  not 
so  very  bad  when  he  came  to  face  it.  There  was  nothing 
low,  or  mean,  or  coarse  about  Ann  Eliza,  who  was  by  no 


43(5  "FOR    BETTER,    FOR     WORSE." 

means  ill  looking,  as  she  stood  up  to  receive  her  lover,  with 
a  droop  in  her  eyes,  and  a  flush  on  her  cheeks ;  for  she  knew 
the  object  of  his  visit,  into  which  he  plunged  at  once.  He 
did  not  say  that  lie  loved  her,  but  he  asked  her  in  a  straight- 
forward way  to  be  his  wife,  and  then  waited  for  her  answer, 
which  was  not  long  in  coming,  for  Ann  Eliza  was  no  dis- 
sembler. She  loved  Tom  Tracy  with  her  whole  soul,  and 
felt  herself  honored  in  being  sought  by  him. 

"Oh,  Tom  I"  she  said,  "it  does  not  seem  possible  for 
you  to  love  me,  but,  if  you  really  do,  I  Avillbeyour  wife  and 
try  to  make  you  happy,  and — and — " 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  : 

"  Save  you  as  much  as  possible  from  father.  "We  cannot 
live  here  ;  you  and  he  would  not  get  on  ;  he  means  well  and 
is  the  kindest  of  fathers  to  me,  but  he  is  not  like  you,  and 
we  must  go  away." 

She  was  really  a  very  sensible  girl,  Tom  thought,  and 
in  his  joy  at  finding  her  so  sensible  he  stooped  and 
kissed  her  forehead  as  the  proper  thing  for  him  to  do,  while 
she,  the  poor  little  mistaken  girl,  threw  herself  into  his 
arms  and  began  to  cry,  she  was  so  glad  and  happy. 

Tom  did  not  know  exactly  what  he  ought  to  do.  It 
was  a  novel  situation  for  him  to  be  in,  with  a  girl  sobbing 
on  his  bosom,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  push  her  off  ; 
but  when  he  remembered  that  she  represented  a  million  of 
dollars,  he  did  what  half  the  men  in  the  world  would  have 
done  in  his  place  :  he  held  her  close  and  tried  to  quiet  her, 
and  told  her  he  was  not  half  good  enough  for  her,  and 
knew  in  his  heart  he  was  telling  the  truth,  and  felt  within 
him  the  stirring  of  a  resolve  that  she  should  never  know 
he  did  not  love  her,  and  that  he  would  make  her  happy, 
if  he  could. 

And  so  they  were  betrothed,  and  Peterkin  came  in  with 
May  Jane  and  made  a  speech  half  an  hour  long  to  his  future 
son-in-law,  and  settled  just  when  they  were  to  be  married 
and  what  they  were  to  do. 

Christmas  week  was  the  time,  and  he  vowed  he'd  give 
'em  a  wedding  which  should  take  the  starch  entirely  out  of 
Gusty  Browne,  whose  mother,  Mrs.  Eossiter-Browne,  would 
think  Gusty  was  never  married  at  all  when  she  saw  what  he 
could  do.  Greatly  he  lamented  that  Harold  and  Jerrie 
could  not  be  present.  "  But  they'll  see  it  in  the  papers," 


"FOR    BETTER,    FOR     WORSE."  437 

he  said,  "  for  I'll  h;ive  a  four-column  notice,  if  I  write  it 
myself  and  pay  for  it,  too  !  And  when  you  meet  'em  in 
Europe  you  can  tell  'em  what  they  missed." 

To  all  this  Tom  listened  with  great  drops  of  cold  sweat 
running  clown  his  back  as  he  thought  of  the  ridicule  he 
should  incur  if  Peterkin  carried  out  his  intentions  to  "take 
the  rag  off  the  bush,"  as  he  expressed  it.  The  trip  to  Eu- 
rope pleased  him,  but  the  party  filled  him  with  horror  from 
which  he  saw  no  escape,  and  he  was  anything  but  a  happy 
man,  when  he  at  last  said  good-by  to  Peterkin,  who  slipped 
into  his  hand  a  check  for  $^,000,  saying,  when  he  protested 
against  taking  it : 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Thomas.  I'm  to  be  your  dad,  so  take 
it  ;  you'll  need  it.  I  know  your  circumstances  ;  they  ain't 
what  they  was,  and  I  don't  s'pose  you've  got  enough  to  buy 
the  engagement  ring.  I  want  a  big  one.  A  solitary — no 
cluster  for  me.  I  know  what  'tis  to  be  poor.  Take  it, 
Thomas." 

So  Tom  took  it  with  a  sense  of  shame  which  prompted 
him  several  times  to  tear  it  in  shreds  and  throw  them  to 
the  winds.  But  this  he  did  not  do,  for  he  knew  he  should 
need  money,  as  he  had  none  of  his  own ;  and  when,  a  few 
days  before,  he  had  asked  Colvin  for  some,  that  worthy  man, 
who  had  never  taken  kindly  to  him,  had  bidden  him  go  to 
a  very  warm,  place  for  money,  as  he  had  no  orders  to  give 
him  any. 

"  Your  uncle,"  he  said,  "settled  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  on  your  father — the  more  fool  he — and  expects 
him  to  live  on  it.  So  my  advice  to  you  is  that  you  go  to 
work." 

Now,  Tom  couldn't  work,  and  after  a  little,  Peterkin's 
gift  did  not  seem  so  very  humiliating  to  him.  although  ho 
could  not  bring  himself  to  tell  his  mother  of  it  when  ho 
announced  his  engagement  to  her,  which  he  did  bluntly, 
and  with  nothing  apologetic  in  his  manner  or  speech. 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  Ann  Eliza  Peterkin  some  time 
during  the  holidays,  and  start  at  once  for  Europe,"  he  said, 
and  then  brought  some  water  and  dashed  it  in  her  face,  for 
she  immediately  went  into  hysterics  and  declared  herself 
dying. 

When  she  grew  calm,  Tom  swore  a  little,  and  talked  a 
good  deal,  and  told  her  about  the  million,  which  he  said 


433  "FOR    BETTER,    FOR     WORSE." 

was  not  to  bo  sneezed  at.  and  told  her  what  Colvin  ha<\ 
said  to  him,  and  ask^d  what  tho  old  Harry  he  was  to  do 
if  he  didn't  m-irry  Ann  Eliza,  and  told  her  of  the  proposed 
party,  asking  her  to  save  him  from  it  if  she  conld. 

When  she  found  she  coul  1  rot  help  herself,  Dolly  rose 
to  the  situation,  and  said  she  would  see  her  daughter-in-law 
elect,  whom  Tom  was  to  bring  to  her,  as  she  could  not 
think  of  calling  at  La  Bateau  in  her  present  state  of  afflic- 
tion. So  Ann  Eliza  came  over,  and  her  mother  came  with 
her.  But  the  latter  Dolly  declined  to  see.  She  could  not 
endure  everything,  she  said  to  Tom,  and  was  only  equal  to 
Ann  Eliza,  whom  she  met  with  a  bow  and  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  without  rising  from  her  chair.  Still,  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  a  million,  Ann  Eliza  was  entitled  to  some  con- 
sideration, and  Dolly  motioned  her  to  a  seat  beside  her,  and 
with  her  black-bordered  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  said  to 
her  : 

"  Tom  tells  me  you  are  going  to  marry  him,  and  I  trust 
you  will  try  to  make  him  happy.  He  is  a  most  estimable 
young  man  now,  and  if  he  should  develop  any  bad  habits, 
I  shall  think  it  owing  to  some  new  and  bad  influence 
brought  to  bear  upon  him." 

"  Yes'm,"  Ann  Eliza  answered,  timidly  ;  and  the  great 
larly  went  on  to  talk  of  family,  and  blood,  and  position,  as 
something  for  which  money  could  not  make  amends,  and 
to  impress  upon  the  girl  a  sense  of  the  great  honor  it  was 
to  be  a  member  of  the  Tracy  family. 

Then  she  spoke  of  the  wedding  party,  which  she  trusted 
Ann  Eliza  would  prevent,  as  nothing  could  be  in  worse 
taste  when  they  were  in  such  affliction,  adding,  that  neither 
herself  nor  Mr.  Tracy  could  think  of  being  present. 

"  Be  married  quietly,  without  any  display,  if  you  wish 
to  please  me,"  she  s  i-id  ;  and  with  a  wave  of  her  handker- 
chief she  signified  that  the  conference  was  ended. 

"  Well,  Annie,  how  did  you  and  my  lady  hit  it  ?"  Tom 
asked,  meeting  Ann  Eliza  in  the  hall  as  she  came  out, 
flushed  and  hot  from  the  interview. 

"We  didn't  hit  it  at  all,"  Ann  Eliza  replied,  with  a 
gleam  in  her  eye  which  Tom  had  never  seen  before.  "  She 
just  talked  as  if  I  were  dirt,  and  that  you  were  only  marry- 
ing me  for  my  money.  She  don't  like  me,  and  I  don't  like 
her,  there  !"  aud  the  indignant  little  girl  began  to  cry. 


"FOR    BETTER,    FOR     WORSE."  4CO 

Tom  laughed  immoderately,  and,  passing  his  arm  around 
her  as  they  went  down  the  stairs,  he  said  : 

"  Of  course  you  dou't  like  her.  Who  ever  did  like  her 
mother-in-law  ?  But  you  are  marrying  me,  not  my  mother, 
BO  don't  cry,  petite" 

Tom  was  making  an  effort  to  be  very  kind,  and  even 
lover-like  to  his  fiancee,  who  was  easily  comforted,  and 
who,  on  her  return  to  Le  Bateau  told  her  father  plainly 
that  the  party  must  be  given  up,  as  it  would  be  out  of  place 
and  deeply  offend  the  Tracys.  Very  unwillingly  Peterkin 

five  it  up,  and  sent  word  to  that  effect  to  Mrs.  Eossiter- 
rowne,  who  had  already  been  apprised  of  the  coming 
event  and  was  having  a  wonderful  gown  made  for  the  occa- 
sion. 

"  I  find,"  he  wrote,  "that  it  wouldn't  be  at  all  rachel- 
sJiay  to  have  a  blow  out  whilst  the  family  is  in  deep  black  ; 
but  'when  they  git  into  lavender,  and  the  young  folks  is 
home  from  their  tower,  I'll  have  a  tearer." 

Peterkin  tried  two  or  three  times  to  see  Mrs.  Tracy,  but 
she  put  him  off  with  one  excuse  after  another,  until  Tom 
took  the  matter  in  hand  and  told  her  she  was  acting  like  a 
fool  and  putting  on  quite  too  many  airs.  Then  she  ap- 
pointed an  interview,  and,  bracing  herself  with  a  tonic, 
went  down  to  the  darkened,  cheerless  room,  and  by  her 
manner  so  managed  to  impress  him  with  her  superiority 
over  him  and  his  that  he  forgot  entirely  the  speech  he  had 
prepared  with  infinite  pains,  and  which  had  in  it  a  good 
deal  about  family  bonds,  and  family  units,  and  Aaron's 
beard,  and  brotherly  love.  This  he  hud  rehearsed  many 
times  to  May  Jane,  with  wonderful  gestures  and  flourishes  ; 
"but,  Fll  be  bumped/'  he  said  to  her  on  his  return  from 
the  Park  House,  "if  I  didn't  forget  every  blessed  word,  she 
was  so  high  and  mighty.  Lord  !  as  if  I  didn't  know  what 
she  sprung  from ;  but  that's  the  way  with  them  as  was  born 
to  nothin'.  May  Jane,  if  I  ever  catch  you  puttin'  on  airs 
'cause  you're  a  Peterkin,  I  b'lieve  I'll  kill  you  !" 

After  this,  anything  like  familiar  intercourse  ceased 
between  the  heads  of  the  two  families  until  the  morning 
after  Christmas  Day,  when  Frank  and  Dolly  drove  over 
to  Le  Bateau,  where  were  assembled  the  same  people  who 
had  been  present  at  Jerri e's  wedding,  and  where  Peterkin 
insisted  upon  darkening  the  rooms  and  lighting  the  gas, 


410  "FOR    BETTER,     FOR     WORSE." 

as  something  a  little  out  of  the  usual  order  of  things  in 
Shannondale.  Petcrkin  was  very  happy,  and  very  proud 
of  this  alliance  with  the  Tracys,  and  his  pride  and  hap- 
piness shone  in  his  face  all  through  the  ceremony ;  and 
when  the  clergyman  asked,  "  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be 
married  to  this  man  ?"  his  manner  was  something  grand  to 
see  as  he  stepped  forward  and  responded,  "  I  do,  sir,"  in  a 
voice  so  loud  and  full  of  importance  that  Dolly  involun- 
tarily groaned,  while  Tom  found  it  hard  to  refrain  from 
laughing. 

Tom  behaved  very  well,  and  kissed  his  bride  before  any 
one  else  had  a  chance  to  do  so,  and  called  May  Jane  mother 
and  Peterkiu  father,  after  he  saw  the  papers  which  made 
Ann  Eliza  possessor  in  her  own  right  of  a  million  dollars  ; 
and  when,  an  hour  later,  she  handed  over  to  him  as  his 
own,  a  deed  of  property  valued  at  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  be  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  again,  tel- 
ling her  what  was  very  true,  that  she  was  worth  her  weight 
in  gold.  Tom  had  felt  his  poverty  keenly,  and  all  the  more 
so  that  Ann  Eliza's  engagement-ring,  a  superb  solitaire,  had 
been  bought  with  her  father's  gift,  as  had  their  passage 
tickets  to  Europe.  But  now  he  was  a  rich  man,  made  so  by 
his  wife's  thoughtful  generosity,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a 
new  set  of  feelings  and  emotions  with  regard  to  her,  and 
inwardly  vowed  that  he  would  make  her  happy. 

They  took  the  train  for  New  York  that  afternoon,  ac- 
companied by  Peterkin,  who,  when  the  ship  sailed  away 
next  day,  stood  upon  the  wharf  waving  his  hands  and  call- 
ing out  as  long  as  they  could  hear  him,  "  God  bless  you,  my 
children,  !  God  bless  you,  my  children  \"  Then  he  went 
back  to  Shannondale  and  called  at  Tracy  Park,  and  reported 
to  Frank,  that  the  youngsters  had  gone,  and  that  Mrs. 
Thomas  Tracy  looked  as  well  as  the  best  on  'em  in  the  ship, 
and  a  darned  sight  better  than  some  ! 

After  this  the  great  houses  of  La  Bateau  and  Tracy 
Park  settled  down  into  perfect  quiet,  especially  that  of 
Tracy  Park,  where  Dolly  shut  herself  up  in  her  mourning 
and  crape,  and  Frank  spent  most  of  his  time  in  Maude's 
room,  with  her  photograph  in  his  hand,  and  his  thoughts 
busy  with  memories  of  the  dear  little  girl  lying  in  her 
grave  of  flowers  under  the  winter  snow, 


AFTER    TWO     TEARS.  441 

CHAPTER  LIII. 

AFTER   TWO   YEARS. 

TWO  years  since  Harold  and  Jerrie  went  away,  and  it 
was  October  again,  and  the  doors  and  windows  of  the 
Park  House  were  all  open  to  the  warm  sunshine  which 
filled  the  rooms,  where  the  servants  were  flitting  in  and 
out  with  an  air  of  importance  and  pleased  expectancy,  for 
that  afternoon  the  master  was  coming  home,  with  Harold 
and  Jerrie  ;  and  what  was  more  wonderful  and  exciting 
still,  there  was  in  the  party  a  little  boy,  born  in  Wiesbaden 
six  months  before,  and  christened  Frank  Tracy.  They  had 
gone  directly  to  Germany — Arthur,  Harold,  and  Jerrie — 
for  the  former  would  not  stop  a  day  until  Wiesbaden  was 
reached  ;  and  there,  overcome  with  fatigue  and  the  recol- 
lections of  the  past  which  crowded  upon  him  so  fast,  Arthur 
fell  sick  and  was  confined  to  his  room  at  the  hotel  for  a 
week,  during  which  time  Jerrie  explored  the  city  with 
Harold  and  a  guide,  finding  every  spot  connected  with 
Gretchen  and  her  life,  even  to  the  shop  where  Frau  Hein- 
rich  had  sold  her  small  wares. 

As  soon  as  her  father  was  able,  she  took  him  to  them 
one  by  one.  Hand  in  hand,  for  he  seemed  weak  as  a  little 
child,  they  went  to  the  bench  under  the  trees  where  he  had 
first  seen  Gretchen  knitting  in  the  sunshine,  with  the  halo 
on  her  hair,  and  here  Arthur  took  off  his  hat  as  if  on  con- 
secrated ground,  and  whispered,  "May  God  forgive  me  I" 
then  to  the  little  shop  once  kept  by  Frau  Hcinrirh,  where 
Arthur  astonished  the  woman  by  buying  out  half  her  stock, 
which  he  ordered  sent  to  his  hotel,  and  afterward  gave 
away  ;  then  to  the  English  church,  where  he  knelt  before 
the  altar  and  seemed  to  be  praying,  though  the  words  ho 
said  were  spoken  more  to  Gretchen  than  to  God  ;  then  to 
the  house  where  he  had  lived  with  his  bride,  when  heaven 
came  down  so  close  that  she  could  touch  it,  or,  rather,  to 
the  site  of  the  house,  for  fire  had  done  its  work  there  and 
they  could  only  stand  before  the  ruins,  while  Arthur  said 
again  and  again.  "  May  God  forgive  me  !"  then  to  the 
house  where  Jerrie  had  lived  and  Gretchen  had  died,  and 
19* 


442  AFTER    TWO     TEARS. 

where  the  picture  still  hung  upon  the  wall,  a  wonder  and 
delight  to  all  who  had  rented  the  place  since  Marian's 
parents  lived  there.  Jerrie  recognized  it  in  a  moment,  and 
so  did  Arthur,  but  he  could  only  wring  his  hands  before  it 
and  sob,  "  Oh,  Gretchen,  my  darling,  my  darling  I" 
Changed  as  the  house  was  Jerrie  found  the  room,  where 
she  had  played  and  her  mother  had  died. 

"  The  big  stove  stood  here,"  she  said,  indicating  the 
spot,  "  and  mother  sat  there  writing  to  you,  when  Nan  nine 
opened  the  door  and  let  the  firelight  shine  upon  the  paper. 
I  can  see  it  all  so  distinctly;  and  over  there  in  the  corner 
was  the  bed  where  she  died." 

Then  Arthur  knelt  down  upon  the  spot,  and  as  if  the 
oft-repeated  ejaculation,  "May  God  forgive  me!"  were 
wholly  inadequate  now,  he  said  the  Lord's  Prayer,  with 
folded  hands  and  streaming  eyes,  while  Jerrie  stood  over 
him,  with  her  arm  around  his  neck. 

"Oh,  Gretchen!"  he  cried,  "do  you  know  I  am  here 
after  so  many  years  ? — Arthur,  your  husband,  who  loved 
you  through  all  ?  Come  back  to  me,  Gretchen,  and  I'll  be 
so  tender  and  true — tender  and  true  !  My  heart  is  break- 
ing, Gretchen,  and  only  for  Cherry,  our  little  girl  baby,  I 
should  wish  I  were  dead,  like  you.  Oh,  Gretchen ! 
Gretchen  !  sweetest  wife  a  man  ever  called  his  !  and  yet  I 
forgot  you,  darling — forgot  that  you  had  ever  lived !  May 
Heaven  forgive  me,  I  could  not  help  it ;  I  forgot  every- 
thing. Where  are  you.  Cherry  ?  It's  getting  so  dark  and 
cold,  and  Gretchen  is  not  here — I  think  you  must  take  me 
home." 

Jerrie  took  him  back  to  the  hotel,  where  he  kept  his 
room  for  three  days,  and  then  they  went  to  Gretchen's 
grave  beside  her  mother,  which  Jerrie  had  found  after  some 
little  search  and  inquiry.  Here  Arthur  stood  like  a  statue, 
holding  fast  to  Jerrie,  and  gazing  down  upon  the  neglected 
grave,  on  which  clumps  of  withered  grass  were  growing  and 
blowing  in  the  November  wind. 

"Gretchen  is  not  in  this  place,"  he  said,  mournfully, 
with  a  shake  of  his  head.  "She  couldn't  rest  here  a  mo- 
ment, for  she  liked  everything  beautiful  and  bright,  and 
this  is  like  the  Potter's  Field.  But  we'll  put  up  a  monu- 
ment for  her,  and  make  the  place  attractive  ;  and  by  and 
by,  when  she  is  tired  of  wandering  about,  she  may  come 


AFTER    TWO     TEAKS.  443 

back  and  rest  \vlien  she  sees  what  we  have  done,  and  knows 
tnnt  we  have  been  here.  We  will  buy  that  house,  too,"  he 
said,  as  he  walked  away  from  the  lonely  grave ;  and  the 
next  day  Harold  found  the  owner  and  commenced  negotia- 
tions for  the  house,  which  soon  changed  hands  and  became 
the  property  of  Arthur. 

Just,  what  he  meant  to  do  with  it  he  did  not  know, 
until  Jerrie  suggested  that  he  make  it  an  asylum  for  home- 
less children,  \\ho  should  receive  the  kindest  and  tenderest 
care  from  competent  and  trustworthy  nurses,  hired  for  the 
purpose. 

"Yes,  I'll  do  it,"  Arthur  said,  "and  will  call  it  'The 
Gretchen  Home/  Maybe  she  will  come  there  some  time, 
and  know  what  I  have  done." 

This  idea  once  in  his  mind,  Arthur  never  let  go  of  it 
until  the  house  was  fitted  up  with  school-rooms  and  dormito- 
ries, and  tilled  with  little  ones  rescued  from  want  and  misery. 
The  general  supervision  of  this  home  was  placed  in  the 
hands  of  the  English  rector,  the  Rev.  James  Hart,  whose 
many  nets  of  kindness  and  humanity  among  the  poor  had 
won  for  him  the  sobriOjUet  of  St.  James,  and  with  whom 
the  interests  of  the  children  were  safe  as  with  a  loving 
father. 

"There  is  money  enough,"  Arthur  said,  when  giving 
his  instructions  to  the  matron,  a  good-natured  woman  who, 
he  knew,  would  never  abuse  a  child.  "  Money  enough  ;  so 
give  them  something  beside  bread  and  water  for  breakfast 
and  mush  and  molasses  for  supper.  Children  like  cookies 
and  cnstard  pie,  and  if  there  comes  a  circus  to  town  let 
them  go  once  in  a  while ;  it  won't  hurt  them  to  see  a  little 
of  the  world." 

Frau  Hi rch  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise,  but  prom- 
ised compliance  with  his  wishes;  and  when  in  the  middle 
of  December  he  left  Wiesbaden  for  Italy  he  had  the  satis- 
faction of  knowing  that  the  inmates  of  the  Gretchen  Home 
were  enjoying  a  bill  of  fare  not  common  in  institutions  of 
the  kind. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find  in  Wiesbaden  people  who 
remembered  Gretchen  and  the  grand  marriage  she  had 
made  with  the  rich  American,  who  afterward  abandoned 
her.  That  was  the  way  they  worded  it,  and  they  remem- 
bered, too,  the  little  girl,  Jerrine,  whom,  after  her  mother's 


444  AFTER     TWO     TEARS. 

death,  the  nurse,  Nannine,  took  to  her  father's  friends,  since 
which  nothing  had  been  heard  from  her.  Thus  had  there 
been  in  Arthur's  mind  any  doubt  as  to  Jerrie's  identity  it 
would  have  been  swept  away ;  but  there  was  none.  He  had 
accepted  her  from  the  first  as  his  daughter,  and  he  always 
looked  up  to  her  as  a  child  to  its  mother  whom  it  fears  to 
lose  si  glit  of. 

The  winter  was  mostly  spent  in  Rome,  where  Harold 
and  Jerrie  visited  every  part  of  the  city,  while  Arthur 
staid  in  his  room  talking  to  an  unseen  Gretchen,  who 
afforded  him  almost  as  much  satisfaction  as  the  real  one 
might  have  done.  In  May  they  went  to  the  lakes  and  in 
June  drifted  to  Paris,  where  Jerrie  was  overjoyed  to  meet 
Nina  and  Dick,  who  were  staying  with  the  Raymonds  at  a 
charming  chateau  just  outside  the  city.  Here  she  and 
Harold  passed  a  most  enjoyahle  week,  and  before  she  left 
she  was  made  happy  by  something  which  she  saw  and  which 
told  her  that  Dick  was  forgetting  that  night  under  the  pines, 
and  that  some  day  not  far  in  the  future  he  would  find  in 
Marian  all  he  had  once  hoped  to  find  in  her.  In  Paris,  too, 
she  came  upon  Ann  Eliza  at  the  Bon  Mtirche,  with  silks 
and  satins  piled  high  around  her,  and  two  or  three  obsequious 
clerks  in  attendance,  for  La  Petite  Americaine,  WHS  well 
known  to  the  trades  people,  who  eagerly  sought  her  patron- 
age and  that  of  my  lord  monsieur,  who  impressed  them 
greatly  with  his  air  of  importance  and  dignity.  Tom  was 
enjoying  himself  immensely,  and  was  really  a  good  deal  im- 
proved and  very  kind  to  his  little  wife,  whom  he  always 
addressed  as  Petite  or  Madame,  and  who  was  quite  a  belle 
and  a  general  favorite  in  the  American  colony.  Following 
a  fashion,  which  Tom  was  sure  had  been  made  for  his  benefit, 
she  had  cut  off  her  obnoxious  red  hair  and  substituted  in 
its  place  a  wig  of  reddish  brown,  which  for  naturalness  and 
beauty  was  a  marvel  of  art  and  skill,  and  became  her  so  well 
that  Tom  really  thought  her  handsome,  or  at  least  very 
stylish  and  stunning,  which  was  better  than  mere  beauty. 
They  had  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Continental,  and  there 
Harold  and  Jerrie  dined  with  them  in  their  private  parlor, 
for  Tom  was  too  fine  a  gentleman  to  go  to  table  d'  hote 
with  the  common  herd.  Ann  Eliza's  grand  maid,  Doris, 
was  with  her  still,  and  had  come  to  look  upon  her  young 
^mistress  as  quite  as  great  a  personage  as  the  Lady  Augusta 


AFTER    TWO     TEARS.  445 

Hardy,  whom  she  had  ceased  to  quote,  and  who,  with  her 
mother,  Mrs.  Rossiter-Browne,  was  now  in  the  city,  attend- 
ed, it  was  said,  by  a  Polish  count,  who  had  an  eye  upon  her 
money.  Once,  when  they  were  alone,  Jerrie  asked  Tom 
when  he  was  going  home,  and,  with  a  comical  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  he  replied,  "When I  hear  that  my  respected  father- 
in-law  has  gone  off  with  apoplexy,  and  not  before/'  Jerrie 
thought  this  a  shocking  speech,  but  she  was  glad  to  see 
him  so  happy,  and,  as  she  told  Harold,  "  so  much  more  of 
a  man  than  she  had  ever  supposed  he  could  be." 

That  summer  Harold  and  Jerrie  spent  in  Switzerland, 
with  the  Raymonds  and  St.  Claires  and  Tracys,  while 
Arthur  went  to  Wiesbaden  to  see  to  the  Gretchen  Home, 
which  he  found  so  much  to  his  taste  that  he  remained 
there  until  Harold  and  Jerrie,  after  a  trip  through 
Austria  and  Germany,  joined  him  in  November,  when 
they  went  again  for  the  winter  to  Italy,  coming  back  in 
the  Spring  to  Wiesbaden,  and  because  Arthur  would 
have  it  so,  taking  up  their  abode  for  awhile  in  the 
Gretchen  Home,  which  had  been  greatly  enlarged  and 
improved,  and  now  held  thirty  deserted  and  homeless 
children.  Here,  in  April,  Jerrie's  little  boy  was  born, 
in  the  same  room  and  corner  where  Gretchen  had  died, 
and  where  Arthur  again  went  down  upon  his  knees  and 
said  the  Lord's  Prayer,  to  which  he  added  a  fervent 
thanksgiving  for  Jerrie  spared  and  a  baby  given  to 
him. 

"I  hoped  it  would  be  a  girl/'  he  said,  "for  then  we 
should  have  called  it  Gretchen,  but  as  it  is  a  boy,  sup- 
pose we  name  it  Heinrich  ?" 

"  No,  father,"  Jerrie  said,  decidedly.  "  Baby  is  not 
to  be  Heinrich,  or  Arthur,  or  Harold,  although  I  think 
the  last  the  dearest  name  in  the  world,"  and  she  put 
up  her  hand  caressingly  to  the  brown  beard  of  the  tall 
young  man  bending  over  to  kiss  her  pale  face  and  look 
at  his  son.  "  We  will  call  the  baby  Frank  Tracy." 

And  so  Frank  Tracy  was  the  name  given  to  the  child, 
who  was  more  like  its  father  than  its  mother,  and  \vhoiu 
Arthur  called  Tracy,  which  he  liked  better,  he  said, 
than  he  did  Frank. 

They  remained  in  Wiesbaden  until  June,  then  went 
to  Switzerland  and  Paris,  and  in  October  sailed  for 


446  AFTER    TWO     7  EARS. 

home,  where  the  Park  House  was  ready  for  them,  with 
no  mistress  to  dispute  Jerrie's  rights  and  no  master  except 
the  lawful  one.  Just  out  of  town  on  a  grassy  ridge 
overlooking  the  river,  a  gentleman  from  New  York  had 
built  a  pretty  little  cottage,  which,  as  his  wife  died 
suddenly,  he  never  occupied,  hut  offered  for  sale,  with 
all  its  furniture  and  appointments. 

"Let's  buy  it/'  Dolly  said  to  her  husband.  "We 
must  go  somewhere  before  Arthur  comes  home,  and  we 
can  live  there  very  respectably  and  economically,  too." 

She  was  beginning  to  count  the  cost  of  everything,  and 
was  almost  penurious  in  her  efforts  to  make  their  income 
go  as  far  as  possible.  So  they  bought  the  pretty  place, 
which  she  called  Ridge  Cottage,  but  Frank  did  not  live  to 
occupy  it.  After  Tom  went  away  and  left  him  alone  with 
his  wife,  who  was  not  the  most  agreeable  of  companions, 
he  failed  rapidly,  both  in  body  and  mind,  and  those  who 
saw  him  walking  about  the  house,  with  his  white  hair  and 
bent  form,  would  have  said  he  was  seventy  rather  than 
fifty  years  old.  Every  day,  when  the  weather  permitted, 
he  visited  Maude's  grave,  where  he  sometimes  staid  for 
hours,  looking  down  upon  the  mound  and  talking  to  the 
insensible  clay  beneath. 

"  I  am  coming,  Maude,  very  soon,  to  be  here  beside 
you,"  he  would  say.  "  Everybody  has  gone,  even  to  Tom, 
and  your  mother  is  sometimes  hard  upon  me  because  of 
what  I  did  ;  and  I  am  tired,  and  cold,  and  old,  and  the 
world  is  dark  and  dreary,  and  I  am  coming  very  soon." 

Then  he  would  walk  slowly  back,  taking  the  post-office 
on  his  way,  to  inquire  for  letters  from  the  folks,  as  he  des- 
ignated the  absent  ones.  These  letters  were  a  great  com- 
fort to  him,  especially  those  from  Jerrie,  who  wrote  him 
very  often  and  told  him  all  they  were  doing  and  seeing,  and 
tried  to  make  him  understand  how  much  she  loved  and 
sympathized  with  him.  Not  a  hint  had  been  given  him  of 
the  baby;  and  when,  in  June,  he  received  a  letter  from  her 
containing  a  photograph  of  the  little  boy  named  for  him, 
he  seemed  childish  in  his  joy,  and  started  with  the  picture 
at  once  for  Maude's  grave.  Kneeling  down,  with  his  face 
in  the  long  grass,  he  whispered  : 

"  Look,  Maude  ! — Jerrie's  baby  boy,  named  for  me — 
Frank  Tracy  !  Do  you  hear  me,  Maude  ?  Frank  Tracy, 


AFTER    TWO     TEARS.  447 

for  me — who  wronged  her  so.  God  bless  Jerrie,  and  give 
her  many  years  of  happiness  when  I'm  dead  and  gone, 
which  will  not  now  be  long.  I  am  coming  very  soon, 
Maude  ;  sooner  than  you  think,  and  shall  never  see  Jerrie's 
little  boy,  God  bless  him  !" 

That  night  Frank  seemed  brighter  than  usual,  and 
talked  a  great  deal  with  his  wife,  who,  to  the  last  day  of 
her  life,  will  he  glad  that  she  was  kind  to  him  and  humored 
all  his  fancies  ;  and  once,  when  he  lay  upon  the  couch,  with 
the  baby's  picture  in  his  hand,  she  went  and  sat  by  him 
and  ran  her  fingers  caressingly  through  his  white  hair,  and 
asked  if  he  were  not  better. 

"Yes,  Dolly,"  he  said,  taking  her  fingers  in  his  hand 
and  holding  them  fast.  "  A  great  deal  better.  Jerrie's 
baby  has  done  me  good,  and  you,  too,  Dolly  You  don't 
know  how  nice  it  seems  to  have  you  smooth  my  hair  ;  it  is 
like  the  old  days  at  Langley,  when  we  sang  in  the  choir  to- 
gether, and  you  were  fond  of  me." 

"  I  am  fond  of  you  now,  Frank,"  Dolly  replied,  as  she 
stooped  to  kiss  the  face  in  which  there  was  a  look  she  had 
never  seen  before,  and  which  haunted  her  long  after  he  had 
said  good-night  and  gone  to  Maude's  room,  where  he  said 
he  would  sleep,  as  he  was  likely  to  be  restless  and  might 
keep  her  awake. 

The  next  morning  Dolly  took  her  breakfast  alone,  for 
Frank  did  not  join  her. 

"Let  him  sleep,"  she  said  to  the  servant,  who  sug- 
gested calling  him  ;  but  when  some  time  later,  he  did  not 
appear,  she  went  herself  to  Maude's  room,  into  which  the 
noonday  sun  was  shining,  for  every  blind  and  window  was 
open  and  the  light  was  so  dazzling  that  for  a  moment  she 
did  not  see  the  still  figure  stretched  upon  the  bed,  where, 
with  Maude's  picture  in  one  hand  and  Jerrie's  baby's  in 
the  other,  her  husband  lay,  calmly  sleeping  the  sleep  which 
knows  no  waking. 

On  his  face  there  was  a  look  of  rapturous  joy,  and  on 
his  lips  a  smile  as  if  they  were  framing  the  loved  name  of 
Maude  when  death  came  and  sealed  them  forever.  Around 
him  was  no  sign  of  struggle  or  pain,  for  the  covering  was 
not  disturbed  ;  and  the  physician  when  he  came  said  he 
must  have  died  auietly  and  possibly  instantly  without  a 
note  of  warning.  They  buried  him  beside  his  daughter  and 


448  AFTER    TWO     TEARS. 

then  Dolly  was  alone  in  the  house,  which  became  so  in- 
tolerable to  her  that  she  left  it  early  in  August  and  took 
possession  of  the  cottage  on  the  Ridge,  which,  did  not 
seem  haunted  with  the  ghosts  of  the  dead. 

And  so  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Crawford  alone  stood  in 
the  door-way  to  welcome  the  travelers  when,  late  in  the 
bright  October  afternoon  they  came,  tired  and  dusty,  but 
so  glad  to  be  home  once  more  and  to  feel  that  now  it  really 
was  home  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 

"  I  was  never  so  glad  in  my  life,  and  if  Uncle  Frank 
were  here  I  should  be  perfectly  happy,"  Jerrie  cried,  as  she 
threw  herself  upon  Mrs.  Crawford's  neck,  hugging  and 
kissing  her  awhile,  and  then  taking  her  baby  from  the 
nurse  she  put  it  into  the  old  lady's  arms,  saying  as  she  did 
so: 

"  Another  grandson  for  you— Harold's  baby.     Isn't  he  a 
beauty  ?" 

And  little  Tracy  was  a  beautiful  child,  with  his  father's 
features  and  complexion,  but  Jerrie's  expression  and  ways, 
and  Mrs.  Crawford  felt,  as  she  folded  him  to  her  bosom, 
that  he  would  be  the  crowning  joy  of  her  old  age.  At  first 
Harold  puzzled  and  perplexed  her,  he  was  so  changed  from 
the  Harold  who  had  shingled  roofs  and  painted  barns  and 
Avorked  in  Pcterkin's  furnace.  Foreign  travel  and  pros- 
perity set  well  upon  him,  and  one  could  scarcely  have  found 
a  more  refined  or  polished  young  man  than  Harold  as  he 
moved  about  the  premises,  with  a  smile  and  pleasant  word 
for  every  one,  whether  of  high  or  low  degree.  He  had 
known  what  poverty  meant,  with  slights  on  account  of  it, 
and  had  risen  above  it  all,  and  remembering  the  days  when 
ho  worked  in  the  Tracy  fields  and  envied  his  companions 
their  leisure  and  freedom  from  toil,  he  had  resolved  that, 
if  possible,  some  portion  of  mankind  should  be  happier  be- 
cause of  him. 

All  Shannondale  hastened  to  call  upon  the  travelers, 
and  no  one  was  louder  or  more  demonstrative  in  his  welcome 
than  Peterkin,  who  called  himself  their  kin,  and  was  very 
proud  of  the  connection  and  of  his  son  Thomas,  for  whom 
he  made  many  inquiries.  It  did  not  take  long  for  the  fam- 
ily to  settle  down  into  every-day  quiet,  Jerrie  proving  her- 
self a  competent  and  thorough  housekeeper,  while  Harold 
was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the  head  to  whom  every  one 


AFTER    TWO     TEARS.  440 

deferred  and  went  for  directions.  Arthur,  who  had  half 
died  from  seasickness,  had  at  once  taken  to  his  rooms  and 
his  old  mode  of  life,  telling  Harold  and  Jerrie  to  do  what 
they  liked  and  not  bother  him.  One  change,  however,  he 
made  ;  he  put  Harold  into  the  office  in  the  place  of  Colvin, 
who  had  clone  his  business  for  so  many  years,  and  who  was 
glad  to  give  it  up.  while  Harold  was  glad  to  take  it,  as  it 
gave  him  something  to  do  and  did  not  greatly  interfere 
with  his  law  studies,  which  he  immediately  resumed, 
applying  himself  so  closely  that  he  was  admitted  to  practice 
within  the  year,  and  in  time  became  one  of  the  ablest  law- 
yers in  the  State. 

For  another  year  the  Raymonds  and  St.  Claires  remained 
abroad,  and  then,  just  before  they  sailed  for  home,  there 
was  a  double  wedding  one  morning  in  London,  when  Fred 
and  Dick  were  the  bridegrooms,  and  Marian  and  Nina  were 
the  brides.  Dick  had  not  forgotten  the  night  under  the 
pines,  but  he  had  ceased  to  remember  it  with  pain  ;  and 
when  he  asked  Marian  to  be  his  wife  he  told  her  of  it,  and 
of  his  old  love  for  Jerrie,  while  she  in  turn  told  him  of  a 
grave  among  the  Alps  by  which  she  had  stood  with  an 
aching  heart  while  strangers  buriedfrom  her  sight  a  young 
artist  from  Boston,  who,  had  he  lived,  would  have  made  it 
impossible  for  her  to  be  the  wife  of  Dick  St.  Claire.  But 
Allan  was  dead,  and  Jerrie  was  a  wife  and  mother,  and  so 
across  the  graves  of  a  living  and  a  dead  love  the  two  grasped 
hands,  and  forgetting  the  past  as  far  as  possible,  were  con- 
tent with  the  new  happiness  offered  to  them.  Nina's  home 
was  to  be  in  Kentucky,  but  Marian  staid  at  Grassy  Spring, 
and  became  Jerrie's  most  intimate  friend,  and  a  constant 
visitor  at  Tracy  Park,  where  she  is  always  welcome. 

It  is  five  years  now  since  Harold  and  Jerrie  came  home, 
and  toddling  about  the  house  is  a  little  girl  whom  they  call 
Gretchen,  and  who  has  all  the  soft  beauty  of  the  Gretchen 
in  the  picture,  together  with  Jerrie's  stronger  and  more 
marked  features.  This  little  girl  is  Arthur's  idol,  and  has 
succeeded  in  luring  him  from  his  room,  in  which,  until  she 
came,  he  was  staying  closer  than  ever.  Now,  however,  he 
is  with  her  constantly,  either  in  the  house,  or  in  the  grounds, 
or  sitting  under  a  tree  holding  her  in  his  lap,  while  he  talks 


450  AFTER    TWO     YEARS. 

his  strange  talk  to  the  other  Gretchen,  and  the  child  listens 
wonderingly,  with  her  great  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  him. 

"This  is  our  grandchild/'  he  will  say,  nodding  to  the 
space  beside  him,  while  little  Gretchen  nods,  too,  as  if  she 
also  saw  a  figure  sitting  there.  "  Our  grandchild,  and  Jer- 
rie'sbaby,  and  you  are  its  grandmother.  Grandma  Gretchen  ! 
That's  funny  ;"  and  then  he  laughs,  and  baby  laughs,  and 
says  after  him,  lispingly,  "Danma  Detchen,  dat's  funny." 

Then  Tracy  comes  up  with  his  whip  and  his  cart,  and 
his  straw  hat  hanging  down  his  back,  and  Arthur  points 
him  out  to  the  spirit  Gretchen  as  her  grandson,  who, 
he  says,  is  all  Hastings,  with  a  very  little  Tracy  and  not 
a  grain  of  German  in  him,  "  but  very  nice,  very  nice, 
and  you  are  his  grandmother,  too,  and  I  am  his  grand- 
father, whom  he  once  called  an  old  crazy  man,  because 
I  wouldn't  let  him  play  in  my  room  with  a  little  alliga- 
tor which  his  Aunt  Dolly — that's  Mrs.  Frank  Tracy — 
sent  him  from  Florida." 

"Well,  you  be  crazy,  ain't  you  ?"  the  boy  says,  seating 
himself  upon  the  bench  and  nestling  his  brown  head 
against  the  arm  of  the  man,  who  replies  : 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not,  but  if  to  bo  very 
happy  in  the  companionship  of  the  living  and  of  the  dead, 
and  to  have  one  as  real  as  the  other  is  craziness,  then  I  am 
crazy.  But  God  is  good,  and  when  he  took  Gretchen  from 
me  he  sent  me  your  mother  in  the  carpet-bag.  Praised  be 
God." 

And  then,  for  the  hundredth  time,  he  tells  to  the  boy 
and  to  the  baby,  too,  the  story  of  the  carpet-bag  and  the 
little  girl,  their  mother,  whom  the  boy,  their  father,  found 
in  the  Tramp  House  one  wintry  morning  years  ago,  and 
carried  through  the  snow.  And  Tracy,  who  is  very  chiv- 
alrous and  very  brave,  and  old  for  his  years,  starts  to  hi; 
feet  with  dilating  eyes  and  says  : 

"I  just  wish  I'd  been  there.  I'd  carried  mamma,  and 
wouldn't  let  her  drop  in  the  snow  as  papa  did.  Where 
was  I  then,  grandpa  ?" 

But  grandpa  does  not  answer,  and  begins  the  story  of 
the  cherries  and  the  ladder,  which  Tracy  likes  even  better 
than  that  of  the  carpet-bag,  particularly  the  part  where 
the  white  sun-bonnet  appears  in  the  Avindow  and  tb,e 


AFTER    TWO     TEARS.  451 

shrill  voice  calls  out  :  "  Mr.  Crazyman,  Mr.  Crazyman, 
don't  you  want  some  cherries?" 

This  Arthur  makes  very  dramatic  and  real,  and  Tracy 
holds  his  breath;  and  sometimes,  when  the  question  is 
more  real  than  usual,  little  Gretcheu  puts  out  her  hand, 
and  says  : 

"Ess,  div  me  some." 

Then  the  boy  and  the  old  man  laugh  and  Tracy  runs 
after  a  passing  butterfly,  and  Arthur  goes  on  with  his 
talk  to  the  baby,  until  she  falls  asleep,  and  he  takes 
her  to  the  crib  he  has  had  put  in  the  bay-window 
under  the  picture  which  smiles  down  upon  the  sleeping 
infant  whose  guardian  angel  it  seems  to  be. 

The  Tramp  House  has  been  repaired  and  renovated,  the 
table  mended,  and  the  rat  hole  stopped  up ;  and  the  trio 
frequently  go  there  together,  for  it  is  the  children's  play- 
house, where  Arthur  is  sometimes  a  horse,  sometimes  a 
bear,  and  sometimes  a  whole  menagerie  of  animals,  just  as 
the  fancy  takes  the  restless,  active  Tracy.  Once  or  twice 
Arthur  has  been  the  dead  woman  on  the  table,  with  little 
Gretchen  beside  him  in  the  carpet-bag,  and  Tracy  tugging 
with  all  his  might  to  lift  her  out  ;  but  after  the  day  when 
he  let  her  fall,  and  gave  her  a  big  bump  upon  her  forehead, 
that  kind  of  play  ceased,  and  the  boy,  who  had  inherited 
his  mother's  talent  for  acting  was  compelled  to  try  some 
other  make-believe  than  that  of  the  tragedy  on  the  wintry 
night  many  years  before. 

Billy  Peterkin  has  never  married,  and  never  will,  but 
he  and  Jerrie  are  the  best  of  friends,  and  he  is  very  fond  of 
her  children,  whom  he  often  takes  out  in  his  dog  cart,  hold- 
ing Gretchen  in  his  lap,  while  Tracy  sits  beside  him  with 
the  lines,  pretending  to  drive. 

Tom  is  still  abroad,  waiting  for  that  fit  of  apoplexy 
which  is  to  be  the  signal  of  his  return  ;  but  the  probabilities 
are  that  he  will  wait  a  long  time,  for  Peterkin,  who  is  himself 
afraid  of  apoplexy,  has  gone  through  the  Banting  process, 
which  has  reduced  his  weight  from  fifty  to  seventy-five 
pounds,  and  as  he  is  very  careful  in  his  diet  Tom  may  stay 
abroad  longer  than  he  cares  to  do,  unless  Ann  Eliza's  per- 
suasions bring  him  home  to  his  dreaded  father-in-law. 
Th'Tu  was  a  little  girl  born  to  them  in  Rome,  whom  they 
called  Maude,  but  she  only  lived  a  few  weeks,  and  then  they 


452  AFTER    TWO     YEARS. 

buried  her  under  the  daisies  in  the  Protestant  burying- 
ground,  where  so  many  English  and  Americans  are  lying. 
And  Eliza  sent  a  lock  of  the  little  one's  hair  to  her  father, 
who  had  it  framed  and  hung  in  his  bedroom,  and  wore  on 
his  hat  a  band  of  crape  which  nearly  covered  it,  while  his 
wife  was  draped  in  black  from  head  to  foot,  and  looked, 
as  IVterkiii  said,  about  as  genteel  as  the  widder  Tracy 
herself. 

Dolly  still  calls  the  Ridge  Cottage  her  home,  but  she  is 
not  often  there,  for  a  mania  for  traveling  has  seized  her, 
and  she  is  always  upon  the  move,  in  search  of  some  new 
place,  where  she  hopes  to  find  rest  and  quiet.  She  still 
dresses  in  black,  relieved  at  times  with  something  white, 
but  she  has  laid  aside  crepe  and  sports  her  diamonds,  which 
she  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  sell,  and  which  attract  a 
great  deal  of  attention,  they  are  so  clear  and  large.  One 
year  she  spent  in  Europe  with  Tom  and  Ann  Eliza,  the 
latter  of  whom  she  made  so  uncomfortable  with  her  con- 
stant dictation  and  assumption  of  superiority  that  Tom  at 
last  came  to  the  rescue,  and  told  her  either  to  mind  her 
business  and  let  his  wife  alone,  or  go  home.  As  she  could 
not  do  the  former  she  came  home  and  joined  a  Raymond 
party  to  California,  but  soon  separated  herself  from  it,  as 
the  members  were  not  to  her  taste,  she  said,  and  were  con- 
stantly doing  something  to  offend  her  aristocratic  ideas. 
Every  summer  she  goes  either  to  Saratoga  or  the  seu-.-ide 
or  the  mountains,  and  every  winter  she  drifts  southward  to 
Florida,  where,  at  certain  hotels,  she  is  as  well  known  as 
the  oldest  habitue.  She  has  a  maid,  and  as  far  as  possible 
keeps  herself  aloof  from  the  common  herd,  consorting  only 
with  those  who  she  knows  have  money  and  position  at 
home.  Poor  foolish  Dolly,  who  has  forgotten  Langley  and 
its  humble  surroundings.  There  are  many  like  her  in  real 
life,  but  only  one  in  our  story,  to  which  we  now  write 


THE   END. 


1887. 


1887. 


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